Harry Potter and the Tome of Truth
by Slytherisa
Summary: OotP Spoilers. Join Harry Potter in his sixth year at Hogwarts and in his search for a mysterious book that could be his key to victory against the prophecy that dictates his fate.
1. Prologue

**AN: **Yo, fellow Harry Potter freaks! My name is Slytherisa, and I'll be your authoress this evening. Well, I've been reading HP fanfiction since July, and finally decided to give writing a go. I'm told that I have a talent for writing, but I don't believe it. I've always hated everything that ever passed through my printer. But, since this won't be printed, let's hope it'll be different, hmm? 

Prologue 

I've had a hard life.

Things happen. Good things. Bad things. Everything. Everything happens for a reason, right? Reason has nothing to do with it when everything happens to you.

Everything happens to me. 

Good things. My friends and the fun we have together. My best friend's family and the comfort and laughter they share with me. Being a wizard. My school and its wondrous mysteries, whose halls make up my true home. Even my rival and the danger of detention he always brings along with him. Being (almost) sixteen years old.

Bad things. My parents who died to save me. My relatives and their uncaring, unjust rearing of their only nephew. Having the entire wizarding world know more about myself than I. Being famous for being alive. Having a deranged Dark Lord out for your blood. Having a painful connection to said Dark Lord, the same Dark Lord that murdered my parents. Helping to bring the bastard back to power. Watching a fellow student die simply for being with me at the time. Watching my own godfather die at the hands of his cousin because he was trying to save my friends and me. Saving us from the deadly and unnecessary battle I had gotten us into because I was too stupid to know any better. Finding out barely an hour later that I am the only person on Earth that can defeat the Dark Lord, _Voldemort_, forever. Finding out this information from a prophecy given shortly before my birth. A prophecy that states I am to either be murdered or become a murderer. Being (almost) sixteen years old.

Yes, it is both a good and a bad thing to be (almost) sixteen. Good, because I never thought I'd live this long. Bad, because so many bad things have happened in so short a time.

Huh. It seems the Bad Things outnumber the Good. This may be true, but the Bad never _outweighed_ the Good. Until now.

Sigh. In times before, my friends could always help me with my problems, or at least cheer me up when they couldn't. Until now. Now I don't even know if I _want_ their company or not. And they can_not_ help me with this problem. I can't tell anyone about the prophecy that Voldemort fought so underhandedly to gain (and failed to do so, at least). Even the members of the Order of the Phoenix don't know what the prophecy says. Telling anyone about it would put him or her at too great a risk of being captured and tortured by Death Eaters (or worse) for information about it. I could _never_ do that to my friends, or any of the Order members. I would die if I lost another loved one, and I have enough blood on my hands as it is. 

I never quite realized how many people actually cared about me until that day at King's Cross. The Weasleys, Hermione, Tonks, Moody, and Lupin, thank goodness. He still came after I deprived him of his last best friend. 

I still can't put into words how it felt to have all those people on my side, after all the years of being alone. I know I wasn't really _alone_, per se, but I was in a way. I had thought that Ron was on my side forever until I became the unwilling fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament, when he abandoned me in his jealousy. He came back, true, but the incident made me wary. I cared for a lot of people, but was unsure if they cared in return. That day on the platform, I finally knew that these were people that would stand by and protect me, no matter what. I want to be able to do the same for them. Even if that means resigning to my deadly fate. 

I failed Sirius. I will not fail them. I will not fail the world that is more of a home to me than my original could ever be. I will fight. I will kill Voldemort somehow, even if he kills me as well. Even if I do live, my life will be destroyed. There is only so much one can take before one will break.

I will destroy my life so that _they_ won't have to.

TBC


	2. Owls and OWLs

Harry Potter, reluctant resident of number four Privet Drive, was currently sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the clock on his bedside table. Now this might seem an odd thing to do at nearly midnight, but today was a special day for Harry: in a mere ten minutes, he would be turning sixteen.

Though it was normal for a teenage boy to be excited about his birthday, Harry Potter was not normal. Even by wizarding standards Harry was extraordinary; yes, this boy was a wizard, and a thumping good one at that. What made Harry different from the other witches and wizards in the secret wizarding world was his defeat of Voldemort, the worst dark wizard in a century. Now any magical person would have been famous for that feat, but what made Harry even more so was the fact that at the time, he had only been a year old.

Although young Harry had survived a killing curse, he did not escape unharmed. When the curse rebounded onto Voldemort, who had just killed Lily and James Potter, Harry was left with a rather remarkable scar on his forehead, shaped like a bolt of lightening. It had recently been discovered that this scar connects Voldemort to Harry, who feels white-hot pain in the scar when Voldemort is near. It also enables Harry to have visions of the Dark Lord if he is asleep, though with great pain to his head.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had tried to put a stop to this connection before something terrible happened. He enlisted the help of the Hogwarts Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape to teach Harry Occlumency, the art of blocking one's mind. Unfortunately, Snape's and Harry's dislike for each other had led to the cancellation of the lessons and the consequential success on Voldemort's part to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries at the end of the school year. 

Harry and his friends, who had gone with Harry to help save his godfather, Sirius Black, were led to the Ministry of Magic and met by Death Eaters. Voldemort had used his connection with Harry to create a false vision of Sirius in his grasp, knowing that Harry would play the hero and come to the rescue. In an effort to save the children, several members of the Order of the Phoenix (Dumbledore's organization of witches and wizards fighting against Voldemort) joined in the fray. While several Death Eaters were captured (including Lucius Malfoy, the father of Harry's school rival, Draco), Sirius was lost when he fell into a mysterious black veil in a room called the Death Chamber.

And as Harry Potter watched the minutes pass by, he found himself thinking about his lost godfather.

He missed Sirius, as he knew he would, but he never imagined such a deep feeling of loss. He'd had no idea how many things would remind him of Sirius-a dog barking; mentions of prison; worst of all, billowing curtains. He had tried to avoid thinking about his godfather for as long as possible, but soon the reminders seemed too many, and he finally got to mourning. He had stayed in his room for nearly two days. That evening he had gone into the kitchen, grabbed some food, and made his way outside. He ate while walking around his usual haunts before ultimately deciding to visit Magnolia Crescent, where he had unknowingly gotten his first glimpse of Sirius.

When he had arrived at his destination, he found that he was approaching the site as if it were his godfather's grave. This suited Harry just splendidly, considering Sirius would never have a real one. He had walked slowly to the house in front of which he had first spotted Sirius, and sat down facing it on the sidewalk. He didn't move or say anything for some time, before quietly telling Sirius and the setting sun how sorry he was for getting him killed; how he missed him so; how he hoped he was all right. Harry didn't know how long he had stayed that way, but by the time he felt he was through he was enveloped in darkness and cold.

Harry was taken out of his reverie by the arrival of midnight. He felt oddly tired, considering he knew that birthday gifts were currently on the way. Deep down he wondered if it wasn't perhaps that he also knew that he would not be receiving one from Sirius, but he quickly pushed that thought out of his head.

Just as Harry was slowly drifting into a light doze, a rapping on his window awaked him. Making his way over, he saw his snowy owl, Hedwig, perched on the sill, waiting to be let in. In the distance he could see several more on the way, and quickly opened the window to allow them entry.

There were quite more owls than usual, making a bewildered Harry wonder just who they could be from. Once he had freed the owls of their respective burdens (and had given them each a bit of water and a treat), they flew off. Harry gaped at the pile on his bed-parcels and envelopes covered nearly half of it (though perhaps this wasn't saying much, as it was a small bed). Breaking out of his daze, he picked up a package wrapped in tidy burgundy paper with a simple yet elegant golden bow. Finding the corresponding card, he opened it to find it was from one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. The card read:

**Dear Harry,**

**I know it seems tactless to wish you a Happy Birthday right now, but I do. You need (and deserve) happiness. I had hoped we could have gotten you away from those relatives of yours by now, but Professor Dumbledore is adamant about your staying there (for now!).**

Harry smiled ruefully at that. He knew he wouldn't be leaving Number Four until it was absolutely necessary-on September the first. Now that Voldemort was back and had shown himself, the blood protection he received through his aunt was more crucial than ever before.

**The Daily Prophet seems to have finally taken a liking to the truth, with the notable absence of Rita Skeeter. There are daily articles on ways to safeguard your homes, though they speak of Death Eaters as if they're termites that can disappear with the right repellant. There's a special section with information on Voldemort**(Harry wondered if Hermione had had trouble writing the name down)**, such as supposed sightings of him or his followers and the Dark Mark. There's a load of speculation, of course, but nothing concrete.**__

Harry marveled at Hermione's intuition. He had meant to renew his previous summer's subscription to the wizarding paper, and wasn't surprised that he had forgotten with the despair he had been in all this time. He was glad that someone was keeping him informed of the status of the wizarding world this year.

**I had thought that most people wouldn't believe that Voldemort could return, but apparently many of them had never believed he was actually dead in the first place. The fact that both you and Professor Dumbledore both say that he has, indeed, returned helps as well. **

**Have you gotten your O.W.L. results yet? I haven't, and I'm not sure what that could mean. Do you think they lost my exams? Maybe they were so terrible they simply threw them out! I hope not, I could use those to study from so I can retake them if I must.**

Harry stared at the card in his hands incredulously before laughing quietly. They were probably taking so long with Hermione's tests because they were twice as long as anyone else's!

**Anyway, enough of my worries. Do try to enjoy your birthday somehow, won't you? I hope my gift helps****-****I thought it might make your stay with the Muggles a bit more magical.**

**Love from**

**Hermione**

Harry smiled softly as he put down the card and turned to the gift. Knowing Hermione, it was probably a book she thought he would find interesting; but when he picked it up, it rattled and felt too light to be a book. He carefully unwrapped the thin, rectangular box and opened it up to reveal-a puzzle?

But this was no ordinary puzzle, to be sure. Harry could tell immediately that this was a wizarding puzzle, for the breathtaking picture on the box was moving. A small tag on the side of the box stated: **"ONE TIME USE ONLY"** though it made no sense to Harry**.** He made a mental note to start on the puzzle as soon as he could before moving on to a simple, deep blue envelope. This one was from Neville Longbottom, one of Harry's Gryffindor classmates, and one of the group that had gone to the Ministry of Magic with him just weeks earlier. It seemed to begin a bit awkwardly:

**Dear Harry,**

**I'm just writing you to say Happy Birthday, and I hope you're well. I guess you're not that well, though. I'm sorry about the whole Ministry mess, and about your friend, Sirius Black. Though Gran says I finally did my family name justice, I'm still sorry for your loss.**

**I was also wondering if there will be D.A. next year? I don't want to pressure you into it or anything, it's just that it was fun and got me an E on my Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. I hope you did well on your exams (or at least better than I did on mine).**

**Anyway, have a good summer and see you back at school.**

**Neville**

**P.S.****-****Gran wants you to know that she thinks what you did for the students and me would have made your parents proud. She knew them, you know.**

Yes, Harry knew. The Longbottoms had been in the Order along with his parents. Neville had no idea that his position could have easily been switched with Harry's; Neville may have been the Boy-Who-Lived, for the prophecy that foretold Harry's fate would have applied to Neville if Voldemort had chosen to try and kill him instead of Harry. Fortunately for Neville, Harry was perceived as the more powerful wizard and subsequently attacked.

Harry moved on to a familiar brown envelope with green ink (thicker than usual this year), finally made curious to see his O.W.L. results. Along with the usual start-of-term notice were the exam results, and, in lieu of a book list, a sign-up sheet for various classes that Harry was eligible for. He opened his results with some trepidation.

**Ordinary Wizarding Level**

Test Results for 

**HARRY POTTER**

**Key: **

**Outstanding**** (O) earns two O.W.L.s**

**Exceeds Expectations**** (E) earns one O.W.L.**

**Acceptable**** (A) earns one O.W.L.**

**Poor**** (P) earns no O.W.L.s**

**Dreadful**** (D) earns no O.W.L.s**

**Astronomy ****-**** E**

**Care of Magical Creatures ****-**** O**

**Charms ****-**** E**

**Defense Against the Dark Arts ****-**** O**

**Divination ****-**** P**

**Herbology ****-**** E**

**History of Magic ****-**** D**

**Potions ****-**** E**

**Transfiguration ****-**** E**

**Total Ordinary Wizarding Levels: 9**

**Note: See enclosed sign-up sheet for possible sixth year courses.**

So, thought Harry forlornly, no chance of being an Auror then. Professor Snape only accepted those with "Outstanding" Potions O.W.L.s in his advanced class, which Harry needed to take in order to become an Auror. He was just considering the possibility of professional Quidditch when he glanced at the sign-up sheet and stopped.

Right there, under Advanced Transfiguration, was Advanced Potions. Harry blinked and thought that there must have been some mistake, when he remembered Professor McGonagall saying that she would help him to become an Auror if it was the last thing she ever did. Could she have actually talked Snape into letting **Harry Potter** into his Advanced Potions class, even with only an Exceeds Expectations?

Deciding that now was not the time to ponder the Slytherin side of the Head of Gryffindor, Harry placed the letters back into the envelope and on his bedside table, next to his clock. He turned back to the pile on his bed and chose a small, elongated box wrapped smartly in parchment and tied with string. Upon opening the attached card, he discovered it was from Remus Lupin.

**Dear Harry,**

**Happy Sixteenth, from all of us here at Headquarters. I know that you've needed one of these for a while now, and we all pitched in to get you the very best. You don't have to worry about taking good care of it, because it's made to be virtually indestructible. We've put various charms on it to take care of that "virtually" part. **

**Thank you for keeping in touch with your letters, as we asked. While I know you are in fine physical health, I'm worried about the rest of you. I know you miss him, Harry, as do I. Know that you can always come to me when you feel overwhelmed, and take care.**

**Remus**

Harry's face saddened as he thought once again of his loss, and remembered it was Remus's as well. Maybe he would take Remus up on his offer, once he had worked through the pain enough to be able to speak about it.

Turning from his darkening thoughts, he opened the gift and gasped. Inside was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful golden wristwatch he had ever seen. It was simple yet elegant, with a gliding second hand and a pale, lustrous face. When he carefully put it on his wrist, Harry found it fit him absolutely perfectly. He would definitely have to write Lupin's thank you note first.

The next box he approached with some apprehension. It was a deep orange and had royal purple stars shooting their way around, leaving golden stardust in their wakes, which quickly faded from view. What had Harry worried was the fancy stylized "W" stamped on the top. Upon closer inspection, he saw the words underneath the "W" read: **Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. **He felt it would be prudent to open the card first, hoping for some kind of warning regarding the contents of that box.

**To our Esteemed Private Investor:**

**Let's just call you EPI for short then, eh? Happy Birthday, Harry! We thought it must be terribly boring over there with the Muggles, and as you're our beloved EPI we thought you more than entitled to a free sample of some of our best products. Careful when you open the box (Aha, Harry thought), you're likely to get a face full of, er… well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it? Just do us (and yourself) a favor and tell your cousin there's a scrumptious cake inside. Trust us, it will be delicious (though for whom, I'm sure you have no idea). Seeing as Percy has been visiting recently, we've had several opportunities to test our finest wares. It's our way of initiating (torturing) his way back into the family. Your special gift box contains all of these "Percy Approved" tools of mayhem. **

**Use them well!**

**Gred and Forge Weasley, owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

**(We couldn't pick whose name got to go first, so we picked both)**

Harry smiled at the thought of one of the Dursleys being the first to open this wonderful box. It wouldn't matter who would bear the brunt of it, as they were all foul people. Maybe he would plant it somewhere tomorrow, somewhere he could watch the ensuing chaos. Thinking of the fun to come put him in the (rather childish) mood to quit waiting and just open his biggest present right then. It was wrapped in lavender paper with thin silver swirls. Forgoing the card in his haste, he made quick work of the wrapping and lifted the lid off the rather heavy box-and gaped open-mouthed at the contents.

Harry's eyes took in the smooth slate finish and mysterious dark runes of the pensieve. He knew immediately whom it was from, and slowly opened the card.

**Dear Harry,** it read,

**I hope you are not angered by my correspondence, but I felt that to not give you this tool would be far worse than any hard feelings you may have toward me. Last summer you bottled up your feelings and had only your harsh thoughts to churn them further. With this Pensieve, you will not need to go through that again. I know you have prior experience in entering the Pensieve, but not in getting yourself out. When you are ready to leave the memory, simply look up and envision the room from whence you came. You will feel yourself soaring up and landing on the floor of the room. **

**Please make use of this gift and deal with your thoughts and memories, one at a time.**

**Albus Dumbledore**

Harry **was **still angry that Dumbledore had kept him in the dark about something as huge as his prophecy, but he also realized what a huge relief this gift would be. He had seen both the Headmaster and Snape put thoughts into the Pensieve and felt like starting immediately, but he decided it may be better to keep all his thoughts in his head for one more night. After placing the stone basin back into its box and carefully storing it under his bed, he chose a small square box that revealed some of Honeydukes' finest candies from his other best friend, Ron Weasley. His letter was a bit longer than the last ones.

**Dear Harry,**

**Happy Birthday, mate! I hope things are all right with the Muggles. I got my O.W.L.s a few days ago, and I got nine! I got an Outstanding in Defense, all thanks to you, I might add. Hermione hasn't got hers yet, and she's worked herself up into a right state about it. I told her it was probably because it was taking them twice as long to grade as anyone else's, but she wasn't too happy with that. She's mad, she is.**

Harry grinned at the way he and Ron had had the same theory as to why Hermione hadn't gotten her scores yet. He could imagine how she might take that comment the wrong way, though. Poor Ron, he thought.

**Anyway, how did you do on them? How about that Astronomy exam, eh? I still managed an Acceptable, though I think we were all given a break considering that even the examiner got distracted by the attack on Hagrid and McGonagall. I also got an A in Charms and History of Magic, though I don't know how I pulled that one off. I got a P in Divination (though that was to be expected, and good riddance anyway), and E's in Transfiguration, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology.**

**Mum was pretty happy when the results came. She's been a bit emotional this summer, as Percy** (Harry could practically hear the name being spat out of Ron's mouth) **has come around a few times (to Fred's and George's delight) to apologize for his "misplaced notions of honor" as he calls it. I call it being a stupid, bloody prat, but not to Mum's face. By the way, don't be surprised if old Perce sends you a long, tedious, groveling letter of apology for, you know, saying you were dangerous and evil and insane and all that.** (Harry sincerely hoped that letter was not among the current pile on his bed)

**Listen, Harry, Hermione told me not to mention Snuffles, but I can't let you mourn forever. I'm not asking you to stop mourning right now or anything, it's way too soon, but just work through it. I don't want you keeping your feelings inside you all the time like last year. It's not good for you in any way at all. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, and I hope you don't take it the wrong way.**

**Ron**

Harry felt the familiar burning in his eyes at his best friend's words, and told himself he would work through the pain with the help of the Pensieve. Eying the bed, he noticed there were only two letters left, each tied onto a gift. He didn't think Percy would go so far as to send an apology gift, so he was fairly certain he wouldn't have to deal with the prat (Ron had a point, after all) tonight. 

He picked up an odd, nearly two-foot long, narrow white box which contained an even more odd root-looking thing that looked like it had been smashed and then stretched like an accordion, except it was quite hard. Glancing at the bottom of the letter, he found it was from Luna Lovegood and her father, the owner of the oftentimes-questionable wizarding magazine, **The Quibbler**. According to the Lovegoods, this was one of the horns from the remains of a dead Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Though Harry still thought it was just a dead tree root, he wasn't about to say anything; Luna was all right by him.

Still slightly worried that the final gift might be from Percy, Harry opened the rather long letter first. It was certainly the appropriate length for an apology from someone as long-winded as Percy, and this did nothing to help Harry's fears. He looked at the bottom of the last page of the letter, gasped, and dropped all the pages as if they had burned him. 

*************************************************************************************

**Next time:** Who wrote the letter? What was the picture on the puzzle box? Will Harry ambush one (or all) of the Dursleys? Where on Earth is this story going? No, seriously…

**Review Responses:**

**Heather:** My first reviewer! I didn't even think I'd get one. Is the length satisfactory now?

**Jenkid11:** My second reviewer! Thank you, and I love those stories too. In fact, you've given me an idea. I'll go work on it now, and I'll check out your stories.


	3. Posthumous Post

AN: A quick note to my reviewers-thank you! I know I only have six reviews so far, but they all mean a lot to me considering I didn't think I'd get any at all. Hope you enjoy this chapter! 

Disclaimer: I own no part of any of the characters or storylines (except this one, of course). That stroke of genius is credited to the lovely J.K. Rowling.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Sirius. Right there, at the bottom-_Sirius._

Was this some sort of cruel joke? No, it couldn't be. Anyone who knew about Harry and his relationship with his godfather was smart enough to know that sending a false missive from Sirius would tear him apart. Unless it was-

_Malfoy._ Of course! Back on the train to Hogwarts last September, he had alluded to knowing about Sirius and his Animagus transformation. His father was in the inner circle of Death Eaters; of course Malfoy must have been the one-

And as quickly as Harry's accusation had come, it had gone. Malfoy's father was in Azkaban, the wizarding prison; there hadn't been any time for him to be informed of the goings-on inside the Ministry the night his father was arrested. The night that Sirius had…

Harry slowly turned back to the letter, the pages of which now lay strewn upon the floor by his bed. One page had landed on his bed-the first page. Stepping closer to the bed, still unwilling to touch the posthumous post, he saw his name written on the top-in what was unmistakably the hand of his departed godfather. Unable to shake the electric feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry decided to read the pages, a flicker of hope already building in his heart. With a slightly unsteady hand, he picked up that first page and read.

**Dear Harry,**

**I sincerely hope that these words never reach your eyes, for if they do, then hopefully I have gone down fighting and not rotting away in this wretched house.**

So Hagrid had been right; Sirius had gone the way he'd wanted to. This did little to comfort Harry, though it did ease his worry some to know Sirius had at least gotten something to be the way he wanted it.

**I had wanted to give you this gift on your birthday in person, but the important thing is that you get it. Earlier this year you saw a memory of Snape's in that Pensieve, a memory of your father and myself at our best and worst. Yes, our best, I can see the incredulous look on your face now. We really were the best at everything we tried****-****classes, new spells (legal and illegal alike), Quidditch, looking charming for the girls… I'm losing myself here. The point is that those were only things that we'd tried. There were other things, things that we hadn't tried****-****giving other people chances to shine, looking past the fronts and seeing people for who they were, realizing we were so arrogant that we started hexing people just because we could. We were terrible at those things.**

**In the Pensieve you saw James playing with a Golden Snitch. In the attached box you'll find that very Snitch, though it stopped working years ago. James broke it himself the day he realized just how horrible a person he could be to others, no matter how good he was to his friends. He was in seventh year at the time. Lily had just told him off in such a blunt manner that the message that she hated the way he was couldn't help but sink in; but not until after he had crushed and thrown the Snitch against the wall of our dorm. He kept it for the rest of his life because, as he said, it served to remind him to keep his head "on the ground, not flying around". Ever the joker, your father was.**

Harry gave a half-smile and opened the tiny box to find it lined with red velvet; inside laid the incapacitated Snitch. He gently pulled it from its resting place and held it in his hand, turning it slowly with his fingers. One of the wings was bent upwards, while the other wrapped itself brokenly around the side of the little golden ball. A portion of one side had been flattened, presumably from his father's heaving of it into the wall. Harry turned back to the letter, aching to learn more about James's turn for the better.

**Needless to say, James's road to self-improvement was a rocky one. I think that even he knew that being kind to Snape was an impossible feat, so he settled for ignoring him in front of Lily. But he did start to realize that being the best was not the most important thing about a person. It was that person's humanity****-****that he could be the best and still remain a real person. Your old teacher Lockhart is a fine example of what happens when you lose yourself in the images you have to keep up. **

Harry did indeed remember Gilderoy Lockhart, having seen him in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries just last Christmas. He was there for treatment for the Memory Charm he'd tried to cast on Harry and Ron in their second year, which had backfired and wiped his memory clean. Lockhart had been a complete fraud and had cast Memory Charms on anyone that threatened to ruin his heroic and perfect image prior to the accident. Harry did not want to become even remotely comparable to that bumbling fool.

And to be human, he thought, is better than being Lockhart, or Voldemort now that he thought about it. Tom Riddle had lost himself in hatred and the Dark Arts and now relished his position as Lord Voldemort.  Harry had told Dumbledore during their meeting after the Department of Mysteries fiasco that he would rather not be human than feel all the pain he had felt that morning. Now, however, he could see the wisdom in his godfather's words. 

**I want you to keep this Snitch and think of your father when you hold it in your hands. Not as the arrogant, foolish fifth-year you saw in that Pensieve, but as the kind, just man he became. And also remember that it was your mother who helped him to become that man, and never doubt that they loved each other almost as much as they loved you.**

**Sirius**

Thank you, Sirius, thought Harry. He had wondered how on Earth the two people he had seen in Snape's memory could grow to love each other enough to get married and have him later on. Though there was only one gift inside the velvet-lined box, Sirius had given Harry many more with his advice, reassurances, and tales of his parents. Harry put the Snitch back in the box and bent down to start picking up the wrapping paper off the floor, but saw something that made him stop. There, on the floor, lay another page to Sirius's letter. But he had just finished it! He picked up the paper, and was surprised to find it was the first page of another letter from his godfather, written a few weeks after the first. Next to and slightly under the bed lay the other page. He began to read, slightly confused.

**Dear Harry,**

**There is some important information you cannot afford to be without. Since I have passed on, I know that Dumbledore has told you about the prophecy by now. I do not know exactly what it says; only that it involves you and the Dark Lord. Remus knows this as well, as does Snape, who was informed only because he had to teach you Occlumency and had to know what to look for in your head. Lily and James didn't know what it said either, Dumbledore just told them to go into hiding because Voldemort was after them. The Fidelius Charm was recommended, and you know the rest.**

**The rest of the Order has no idea that the prophecy directly involves you, Harry. Dumbledore told them that it contained the knowledge Voldemort would need to win the war, though it worries me how that could possibly involve you. He justified his having you watched constantly last summer by saying that you were in danger of being possessed by the Dark Lord, to avoid having the Order question why you needed exclusive protection. I don't know for sure, but I suspect that Dumbledore knows exactly what that ruddy prophecy says. Any questions I shoot his way are thoroughly avoided.**

Harry knew for a fact that Dumbledore was the only other person aside from himself who knew that prophecy in its entirety. He was glad in a way that Sirius never found out the truth-that Harry would end up in a Life-or-Death battle with Voldemort himself. Sirius would have worried to death over it and would never have allowed him to be in that final battle, even though it was a necessary inevitability.

**Anyway, I need to get to my point, as I am running out of paper. I was browsing through the Black library today, one of the rare days when the house was empty, looking for something (anything) to read that wasn't entitled "Worse Than Death: Curses and Countre-Curses" or "Hexes from Hades", when I picked up an extremely thin book with no title, only an intricate, silver compass rose embossed on the leather cover. I barely had time to register this fact before I felt a pull behind my stomach****-****it had been a Portkey. I had my wand ready as soon as I landed, but no one else was there. I saw a rather large, circular, black room lit only by floating orbs of light. Then, quick as I had been pulled into the room, it felt as though I was shoved out of it just as quickly and back into the library. I had not let go of the book. I opened it up, but the only words in it were on the first page: "Fortunes told in days of old felled the bold and made blood cold. Find the Records, Seek them out, the Seeker will win the Bout."**

**You need to see that book, Harry. I hope I can show it to you in person, but if you're reading this now then that is obviously not an option… Try to remember the good times we had together, and don't dwell on the dead so long that you forget to live. **

**Sirius**

Now Harry was very confused**. **He didn't know whether to trust that this second letter was from his godfather or not; he sounded so jumbled and different compared to past letters. But he undeniably wrote parts of the letter-the parts about the prophecy, Dumbledore, and the beginning of his tale of that day in the library. In fact, that was where he started sounding like someone else. What was the deal with that book, and why did it seem so important to Sirius that Harry find it? How was any of this classified as "information he could not afford to live without"? It made no sense at all. Harry wondered if perhaps his godfather's last weeks in Grimmauld Place hadn't finally gotten to his brain.

But those short rhymes; they did get Harry intrigued. What could they be referring to? Were they riddles? If that was the case, he wondered if he should tell Hermione and get her to help, she was brilliant with them. And why did the room "shove" Sirius out and back into the library? What was in that room? 

Harry's eyes widened and he tossed the letter onto his bed. What was he doing, thinking about these things? Of course he wouldn't go searching for that book, this letter may not even be real! It could easily have been planted by Death Eaters and made to sound like it was from Sirius; they had Wormtail to reference his writing style, didn't they? They probably wanted to lure him out of safety and into-an empty room? Maybe Harry was just getting to be more paranoid than Mad-Eye Moody. Although four run-ins with the worst Dark Lord in a century will do that to anyone, wouldn't it? Especially when his first had been at the age of one, then the second at eleven… 

Harry sighed. He longed to be back in first year, back when the wizarding world was a wonderful place where the next adventure was always just around the corner, back when everything was so new, back when he had become the youngest Seeker in a century for the-

Wait a moment. Harry turned back to the letter on the bed and skimmed down to the book inscription… "The Seeker will win the Bout"…The worst Dark Lord in a century…the youngest Seeker in a century… the prophecy…

Harry suddenly found he could not keep his eyes open. Struggling against what he knew to be an induced sleep, he desperately tried to open his eyes. But it was all in vain; having fallen asleep half-leaning on the bed, he slowly slunk down to the floor and was dreaming before his head even came to a rest. No one was around or awake to see the icy-blue glow his scar was giving off.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

**AN:** Confused? I hope so; otherwise you may be too intuitive. Well, this chapter's shorter than my last, but I felt this was a good place to stop.

**Next time:** Harry dreams, connections are made, and fuses blow. Will probably be a long one.

**Review Responses:**

**Sammie:** My third reviewer! Thank you and here you go.

**tenken:** My fourth reviewer! Thank you very much and I hope you'll be reading more soon.

**Lady Macbeth 10:** My fifth reviewer! The wait is over (for now, of course), glad to keep you wanting more.

**Heather:** My first repeat reviewer! That's a good idea, thank you.


	4. Visions of the Past

He was floating. He felt as if he were at the bottom of a deep, still body of water, but did not feel the lack of air. Opening his eyes, he saw a brief flash of glittering blue, and then the world came into focus.

Harry looked at the world around him; he was in a forest that felt thousands of years old. He couldn't remember ever seeing so many trees in one place, let alone any that were this big. The canopy above filtered the bright morning sunlight that shined down to the ground, casting patched shadows that moved in the gentle wind; he inhaled deeply the scent of the woods, of green leaves and chipped bark and earth. He expected to hear the sounds of woodland creatures-birds chirping and rustling in the trees, hares running through the underbrush-but none came. It was as if this wood was for the trees alone, for they were all he could hear.

Harry turned to the right, not of his own accord. He saw a wide path that looked more like a man-made lane, lined by bone-white birches. The irrefutable force drew him down the path. As he walked, Harry noticed that the sun began shifting quickly into late afternoon, though he kept his pace. By the time he entered the clearing at the end of the path, it was moments before sunset. In the center of the enormous clearing grew a tree larger than Harry could have even imagined-an enormous, majestic oak.

The sound of slight, swift movement startled him out of his trance. So something other than trees _was_ in this forest! Harry looked to the right of the tree's trunk and saw a man; to the left he saw a woman. The man was rather handsome with shoulder-length red hair worn in a small ponytail, and was dressed in a style Harry had only seen in pictures in his History of Magic textbook-that of wizarding folk from the late ninth century, a time before Hogwarts had even been founded! The woman, who was very pretty and had waist-length, wavy black hair, was also dressed in this fashion. They both looked about eighteen and simply stood facing each other, as though they couldn't even see Harry fifty feet away. Harry wanted to apologize for intruding, but that mysterious force prevented him from uttering a sound.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but before she even finished drawing breath the world silenced and froze. Harry tried to blink, but found he couldn't even do that. The world began spinning in a blur of colour. He felt as though he had just gotten off of a roller coaster as he landed solidly on the ground. He felt dizzy and would have fallen over were it not for that force keeping him exactly where it wanted to.

When Harry was finally able to focus his eyes, he saw he was now in a completely different place. He was inside a wide stone tower with several pane-less windows. Out of them, he could see the cloudless night sky. The moon was a waning crescent, and the stars seemed brighter and greater in number than he had ever seen. The force controlling Harry turned his head to the left, but he couldn't see anything. Seemingly out of nowhere he suddenly heard a sigh of contentment as a man let his Invisibility Cloak drop to the floor. 

This man appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, and had blonde hair about the length of Harry's. Harry couldn't directly place the era of robes the young wizard was wearing, but he reckoned it was some time in the thirteenth century. He watched the man gaze at the stars for a while longer, but then the world froze once more. Knowing what was about to happen, and knowing that trying to close his eyes wouldn't help, he simply braced himself for the eye-assaulting swirl of colours to come.

The second time had been easier than the first, Harry noted. Once again he gazed at his surroundings, and was surprised to find that he was in a beautiful country garden. All around him were fragrant, vibrant flowers, and sweet-smelling fruit trees. A stepping stone path wound through it, which he was made to walk. It led to a small, peaceful fishpond beside which a young woman sat. She looked to be around twenty-two or twenty-three, and was dressed in the style of an eighteenth century witch. She had an arm basket full of freshly cut flowers from her garden at her side, and was feeding the fish while humming softly. Harry would've liked to stay here for a bit longer, as she had a fine voice, but the world had already gone silent. Slightly disappointed, Harry went through the vortex with relative ease. When he regained his bearings this time, however, he was so shocked he wouldn't have been able to move or speak even without the force preventing such.

Harry was staring at himself. Or his past self, to be more precise, for this Harry was much smaller than the one watching. He was in Dumbledore's office, and so was the Headmaster himself. Harry could hear them speaking…

"-Transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar," said Dumbledore. "Not something he intended to do, I'm sure…"

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in _me_?" Past Harry asked. Harry recognized this conversation now; it was the one he and Dumbledore had had after he'd rescued Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, back in his second year.

"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore replied.

"So I _should_ be in Slytherin. The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it-"

"Put you in Gryffindor. Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules. Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor because I asked not to go in Slytherin…"

"_Exactly_, which makes you _very different_ from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at _this_."

And as Past Harry took the sword with which he had slain the Basilisk, time froze, leaving Harry staring at his past self staring at the inscription: Godric Gryffindor.

The scene stayed emblazoned in his mind throughout the journey, until he landed and found himself back at the original scene with the man and woman. It was as if he had never been gone, as the woman began speaking.   

"It's too late," she said, and Harry could hear the angry despair in her strangled voice.

"No," the man whispered chokingly, like someone denying that which he knew was true, and had known for a long time.

"It is and you know it," she spat out. "How could you just abandon me like that? You said you would come for me before I was ever in danger, but you left me!"

"I tried to come, but-"

"I don't want to hear any excuses, Dirk."

"Damn it, Ita, listen to me!" the man named Dirk said fiercely. "I know I wasn't there, but it was because of that man I was trying to save you from!"

The woman, Ita, apparently, paused while her eyes slowly widened in comprehension. "You mean - Lord Denman - he knows about you? About us?"

"So it would seem," Dirk muttered. "A group of his soldiers blocked my path, but when I attempted to find another they threw me out of the courtyard. I never even made it to the castle doors."

"Oh, Dirk," Ita whispered. Suddenly, she ran to close the distance between the two. Dirk hurried to meet her, and they reached each other in front of the massive oak. Ita began sobbing into Dirk's shoulder, and Harry began to feel very awkward.

"So…" Dirk struggled to say. "Is it true? Are you going to marry that - that -"

"His name is Lyulfe Denman, and he better not catch you saying anything like you were about to. He'd have you killed on site. Don't you dare leave me now."

"Tell me what happened."

"Well," Ita began, now that she had calmed enough to speak coherently. " Lord Denman met with my father, as you know. I wasn't allowed in the room, so I've no idea as to what was said exactly; but when they came out, Lord Denman had that horrible smirk on his face. What was ever the worse, however, was my father's face. I've never seen him so sad, so heartbroken, not since Mother died-" 

Ita's voice had broken and she struggled for a moment to regain control of herself. Harry thought she seemed to feel as though she was running out of time, though to do what exactly, he had no idea. Ita continued.

"I led Father to his chamber and demanded he tell me what the matter was. He told me that Lord Denman," she spat the name out like poison, "had threatened to use his inexorable army to take over our kingdom. He said he would only leave if he could - if he could - take my father's most valuable treasure. Me."

Dirk's jaw clenched so tightly Harry could hear his teeth grinding. He drew Ita even closer as fire blazed in his honey-brown eyes.

"I had hoped you would be at the castle by that time, but you weren't. I had no choice but to accept the Lord's 'proposal' to save my father, and my people. When I accepted, he - he kissed my hand like he had been courting me for years - like only you have ever done."

A few tears escaped from her eyes and Dirk gently took the offended hand. He rubbed it tenderly before giving it a soft kiss. Suddenly it was Ita's lips he was kissing, and Harry's eyes widened of their own accord. He had flushed a deep red before he realized that the force was gone and whipped around to keep from seeing the two lovers get out of hand. 

"Dirk, make me forget the foul touch of my future husband. We must make the most of our doomed time together," He heard Ita say breathlessly.

"I love you, Ita Cecania."

"I love you, Dirk Everard."

And to Harry's great relief the world froze, but more importantly, it silenced.

Like that wasn't awkward, he thought. He wondered why the force had suddenly disappeared, not that he was about to complain. He rather liked having his lucidity.

Having suspected where he was about to land, Harry wasn't surprised when he found himself back in the tower of stone. He noticed, however, that some time must have passed since his last visit, as the moon was out of sight tonight. He was also alone; but not for long, as the tower door banged open and the blond man threw his Invisibility Cloak to the floor. 

He was panting and gasping for air - from his dash up to the tower? No - Harry saw tear tracks on the man's face. He wasn't panting; he was sobbing. Harry was shocked and wondered what could have happened to cause such a dramatic change in the man. He had thrown himself onto the same window he'd been at last time, but instead of gazing at the stars he had his head buried in his arms. Harry was about to walk over to him when the door banged open once again. In the doorway stood a tall man that looked to be between fifty and sixty, with a chest-length, salt-and-pepper beard that matched his hair.

"Parker," the elder man began quietly, but the younger one cut him off.

"Go away, Barnabas."

"No, Parker, I will not."

"You will. I can make you do it, you know."

"Parker Feodore, you dare to threaten your Guardian?"

Parker shot up from his place at the window. "You dare bring that up right now! You're out of line, old man. How can you think I would respect you after I find out you've lied to me about something as serious as a _genuine prophecy_ for sixteen years?"

"I never lied to you, Parker. I simply thought that you were not yet ready to know."

"Don't you think it would have been more efficient to tell me earlier? So many innocent lives could have been saved!"

"I realize that now. I just - you're a special young man, Parker. You feel such strong emotion. This will help you in your fated battle, but it was also why I could not bear to tell you when you were younger, innocent. I cared too much for you to ever hurt you intentionally, Parker, you must know this."

Parker was silent for a moment before turning back to the window, staring at the sky. "I know," he whispered. The old man, Barnabas, looked terribly guilty as he slowly made his way to his charge; as the world froze.

No, thought Harry, not yet! He wanted to see what was going to happen; those two men reminded him of something, someone important, but he hadn't figured out what or whom yet. 

Pouting slightly, he walked down the familiar stepping stone garden path to the pond. The woman was already there, wrapping her arms around the tops of her knees and resting her tear-stained face on them. It appeared that she had finished her crying already. 

Harry looked around, expecting to have to get off the path to make way for a new person; but no one was coming. He looked back at the young woman and noticed that an enormous, ancient-looking book lay at her side. The woman turned her face from the pond and stared bitterly at the book for a moment before slowly unfolding herself and picking it up. Harry moved behind her to get a better look at the mysterious book; she didn't notice. As her hands explored the archaic cover, Harry read the title: The Tome of Truth.

The Tome of Truth? What could that book be about, and why was the woman so wary of it? Seeming to have heard his thoughts, she slowly opened the book - not to the beginning as one would normally do with a book, but to the last few hundred pages. The woman turned pages more quickly now, apparently searching for something. When she reached an illustrated title page at the beginning of that final section, she froze. Harry quickly looked at the page from over her shoulder to see what had startled her so, but found the picture to be more surprising than the words. Taking up three-quarters of the rather large page was an incredibly accurate and colourful depiction of the woman currently staring at it. Above the illustration were written two words in a beautiful, flowing script: Sarah Silverwood.

"It _is_ me," the woman whispered. She must be Sarah Silverwood, then, thought Harry; Sarah continued. "You were right, Dama. But why didn't you tell me while you were still alive? You said in your letter that this would help me in the war to come, but I need _you_! My - my Guardian," she whispered the last word. 

There was that Guardian thing again, thought Harry. And what was this Dama person right about? Again as an almost direct answer to his unspoken query, Sarah went on speaking to her late Guardian. 

"Well, I _will_ thank you for leaving me with the prophecy. At least I could hear my fate in full, hmm?" She attempted to smile ruefully, but it turned into a grimace as she choked back more tears. Her voice struggled to make its way around the lump in her throat. "I miss you already, Dama. How could you leave at a time like this? At the moment I need your guidance and training the most? On the eve of a terrible battle? The battle that will make me a murderer if luck _is_ on my side!"

Comprehension struck like lightning in Harry's mind. Everything he was seeing - Parker, Sarah, the battles, the book - the _prophecies _- this had all happened before! As Harry's mouth came down in horror the world spun out of control and threw him into Dumbledore's office, on that dawning morning that he had found out the horrible truth. Sure enough, there was Very-Recent-Past Harry smashing Dumbledore's mysterious silver instruments along with the table they had rested upon. Harry didn't have to listen in to know what was being said; he remembered every word said on that dreadful day. 

Harry hadn't realized he was hyperventilating until he fell to his knees, gasping for air. He was suddenly thrown back into the glittering blue, where he didn't need to breathe or think. Feeling satisfied in the stillness, he closed his eyes in dreamland and opened them in reality. They widened when all the memories of his dream came flooding back to his mind, and suddenly one thing was very clear to Harry.

He needed to find the Tome of Truth.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** I know I said that more was going to happen in this chapter, but the dream part took a lot longer than I thought and the chapter was screaming at me to stop here. Is it a good thing or a bad thing when your chapters talk to you?

**Next time:** Harry gets a plan and somebody gets pissed off. Whee!

**Review Responses:**

**sillypaulie:** I'm glad you like it, and here's some more for you!

**pug320:** Thank you!  


	5. Birthday Surprises

**AN:** Hey, it's 2004! Guess what? Last Friday was my one-year anniversary with FanFiction.Net! Last year on January 2, 2003 I put in a Google search for Inuyasha fanfiction and found this fabulous (and sometimes difficult -_-) website. *Sigh* memories… 

I'm also in a good mood because I got a Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King 2004 calendar, and not only is Legolas on my month (again!), but he's on two other ones. Mmm… sorry, here's the next chapter. Sorry it took so long, but I couldn't get on the computer at all. Enjoy! (If anyone's actually _reading_ this, that is ^_^;)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry needed a plan.

From what he gathered from his dream (though vision seemed to be a better word), his prophecy predicament was not only _repeated_ history, but _documented_ as well in the Tome of Truth. But by whom? Maybe these Guardian people wrote down the lives of their charges; or perhaps the Tome itself recorded it magically. In either case, judging by the sheer enormity of the volume, it either went into great detail on the long lives of its subjects or else there were dozens of heroes whose lives were cut terribly short. Harry sincerely hoped with all his might it was the former, as he suspected he was the Tome's most recent entry.

Even if many others before him had been defeated by their fates, he still needed that book so he could find out what they had done wrong. That's exactly what Hermione had said of her O.W.L.s, Harry remembered, to study from the mistakes in order to do better the next time. He'd have to thank her for the idea sometime later, though, as he had to _find that book_.

Where would a centuries-old, several thousand pages-long book be now? Harry searched his limited knowledge of wizarding world geography, and unsurprisingly turned up nothing. He certainly didn't think it would turn up at Flourish and Blotts or the Hogwarts library. Hermione would have found it years ago if that were the case, thought Harry wryly. What he needed to find was a place that no one else but the others that he'd dreamed about had been to. That _did_ seem safer than passing it around to each person, and surely a book that important would not be kept at any public library! But his dream had not yielded any such information; he had no idea where any of the dream scenes had taken place.

Harry was startled from his reverie by three rapid knocks on his bedroom door. Aunt Petunia's sharp voice was slightly muffled by the door. "Come on, you…er, Potter! Wake up already and make your breakfast."

The Dursleys had been walking on eggshells around Harry ever since that day at King's Cross. They weren't so much afraid of what the fully trained Aurors would do to them if they mistreated Harry, as they were of how abnormal it would look to the neighbors if several wizards suddenly appeared on their property. They had stopped forcing Harry to make their meals, preferring instead to further isolate him by having him make his own. This kept the Dursleys happy because they still had a measure of control over Harry, and he was happy because he no longer had to eat only what was given him.

Harry slowly got out from under the covers and changed into a pair of khaki pants and a striped T-shirt, bought and paid for by Aunt Petunia, fresh from the second-hand store. Oh well, thought Harry, at least these actually fit and look decent. Yes, the Dursleys were doing everything they could to keep the "freaks" away, and things had never been better for Harry at Privet Drive. 

Harry made his way downstairs and into the kitchen to find the other residents of number four already sitting down to breakfast. Aunt Petunia usually called him late so that she and the Dursley men wouldn't have to endure Harry's presence for too long, while still being able to honestly say that he sat down with them for meals. 

While he busied himself preparing toast and eggs, Harry noticed his relatives giving each other meaningful glances, as if they were debating something without the use of words. Uncle Vernon seemed to be very bitter about something, and Dudley was glaring half-heartedly at his parents. That's odd, thought Harry; Dudley doesn't seem to be putting his heart into his temper today. He only raised an eyebrow at his family's behavior and turned around to the cabinet to get a plate for his food. He was just reaching for a glass for his orange juice when Uncle Vernon spoke gruffly.

"Happy birthday, boy - ouch, Petunia! - I mean, Harry," he amended after a loud _thump_ sounded from beneath the kitchen table.

Harry had only just managed to keep his glass from falling to the floor; his eyes were almost popping out of his head as he spun around to face the Dursleys, who were looking apprehensive (and sick, in Uncle Vernon's case). As quickly as they had widened, his eyes narrowed into wary slits.

"What are you playing at?" he demanded fiercely.

"Why, n-n-nothing, of course," Aunt Petunia began timidly, then continued defensively, "Can't your family wish you well on your birthday?"

"Not you people, no," Harry stated, not with any ferocity, only as a bare and simple fact. "Since when have you cared about my birthday? I bet you didn't even know it was today. I mean, _I_ didn't even know it was today until I saw my birth certificate when I began school."

"Well, w-we thought what b-better time to start than now," Aunt Petunia clarified. "You know, sixteen, it's a big year," she went on with a terrified smile that made her look like she was about to cry. "You can s-spend the day with Dudley," another sharp _thump_ was heard before Dudley could complain, "and y-your presents are on the counter, j-just over there, H-Harry."

Harry's eyes followed her gesturing hand to the counter along the far side of the kitchen, under the windows. On it lay five festively wrapped birthday presents. "Those are - mine?" he inquired softly.

"Yes," Aunt Petunia breathed in relief, "they're all yours."

Harry didn't know what to do, or even how he felt about the whole thing. He had never gotten any gifts from the Dursleys, save some old socks of Uncle Vernon's and bits of garbage (though there was that Christmas in his first year at Hogwarts when he got a fifty-pence piece). And he'd always wished when he was younger that they would celebrate his birthday like this, with gifts and special activities and the like; but they'd never even mentioned it before today. He'd always wanted a celebration - but not one so forced and insincere. Suddenly Harry knew how he felt.

"I don't want them," he said, turning back to his relatives.

The Dursleys looked bemused. Harry could tell Uncle Vernon was getting angry and continued with his explanation quickly to pacify the coming tirade.

"It's not that I don't appreciate them. I mean, thank you and all," he said awkwardly, not being used to thanking them for anything, "but I don't want them. I don't want something you got for me just because you're afraid I'll tell the Order that you've been mistreating me if you hadn't. There's nothing in those boxes that could help me, anyway," he ended quietly, getting an eerie, far-off look in his eyes.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other, and then simultaneously looked to Dudley, who quickly replaced his fallen scowl and shook his head fiercely. Aunt Petunia gave him an unusually stern glare previously reserved for Harry, and Dudley acquiesced rather quickly. "Well," she began, calling Harry back from whatever planet he'd been on, "you can still spend some time with Dudley. He did give up a day with his friends to be here, you know."

Harry fixed his still slightly eerie gaze onto his glaring cousin and raised an eyebrow. Well, it _was_ his birthday; maybe he could have some fun with old Dudders. He did still need to open the gift from the Weasley twins….

When Harry smirked, Dudley's glare disappeared. He looked to his mother to silently plead for freedom one last time, but she only looked even more sternly upon her son. He tried to beg his father for help, but Vernon had turned back to his newspaper. He stared dejectedly at his empty breakfast plate while he waited for Harry to finish his now lukewarm food. As Harry watched him out of his peripheral vision, he noticed that Dudley seemed to be thinking about something. He apparently reached a decision as a look of grim determination crossed his face.

The sound of Harry's voice made Dudley jump.

"Well, c'mon Big D, we've got loads to do today." Harry waited by the front hall for Dudley to catch up, wondering what his cousin might have been thinking about at the table. Did it have to do with him, Harry? What had ever given _Dudley_ cause to _think_?

Dudley finally made it to where Harry was standing, pouting angrily like a small child. "Let's go Dudders, I only get one birthday a year," he said, heading towards the front door.

"You mean you want to go _outside_?" asked Dudley, sounding horrified.

"Of course I do - it's a beautiful day, you know."

"But - but - there are _people_ out there!"

"You don't say? Do tell, and point them out if you see any; I've never seen a _person_ before."

Dudley flushed angrily. "You know what I mean! People will _see_ you, with _me_!"

"Well I should hope so. We wouldn't want them bumping into us, would we?"

"You - let's just go!" Dudley seethed, throwing the door open. 

"An excellent idea, Big D. I see now why they made _you_ the gang leader," Harry finished with a smile as he walked calmly past Dudley, who clenched his fists in anger as he realized he'd just held the door open for his cousin.

As they made their way to the sidewalk, Harry glanced furtively around the garden for any sign that an Order member was following him. He doubted he would find any, as they probably had Silencing Charms and Invisibility Cloaks. Or Disillusionment Charms more likely, as Invisibility Cloaks were rare and expensive.

"Where are we going?" mumbled Dudley, obviously miffed that he had to ask.

"Not far," replied Harry.

"And just where exactly _is_ 'not far'?" Dudley sneered.

"Just up your arse and around the corner."

"Oh come on, how old was _that_?"

"Well, how old are _you_?"

"Shut it, I meant your _comeback_!"

"I made a comeback? I didn't know I'd left. In fact, I didn't know I was even there to begin with. Was I a washed-up actor or something? Or was I a singer? Was I fam-?"

Harry's acerbic comment died on the word "famous". No matter how he enjoyed taunting Dudley, he could not joke about his fame in the wizarding world. It had caused him so much trouble, and had cost him so much more. He couldn't bring himself to make light of the subject- even to Dudley, who had no idea about it at all.

Dudley, for his part, had noticed Harry's sudden silence and frowned. Well, thought Harry, maybe he's _not_ as thick as concrete. He sighed and increased his pace, succeeding in both breaking eye contact and avoiding the subject - or so he thought.

"What's the matter with you?" Dudley asked as he caught up to his cousin.

Harry, not bothering to turn his head, glanced sideways at him. "What are you on about?"

"Right back there! You just stop in the middle of our argument, and then shut up like I'd told you to. Since when have you ever done what I tell you?"

Harry paused in his march and looked at Dudley for a moment before turning his head away once more and continuing onward. "Why do _you_ care?" he asked.

"I don't! I just-I was just wondering, well-that is to say, I was _curious_ about-er-"

"Hey listen-when you feel like getting to the point, let me know. I'll be in the nursing home, so you can send me a letter but my eyesight may be gone by then."

Dudley actually paused to gather his thoughts (however few they may be, thought Harry). He took a deep breath and said, "Can we go somewhere _else_? Like not out _here_?" 

"Why?" Harry asked. "Afraid of these mysterious _people_ you keep going on about?"

"_Yes_, actually, now let's _go_," and with that he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him down the street. Harry, who was staring incredulously at his cousin, let him, uncaring as to where they were going. 

As it turned out, they were headed to the park. When Harry looked through the fence, he saw that there were several little kids playing inside of it, and mentioned it to Dudley. "Not for long," was his only reply. Harry understood his cryptic words as soon as they entered the park; the nearest child caught sight of them, gasped, ran to his friend (who also gasped at the sight of the two number four residents), and then the both of them scrambled past the gate as fast as they could. During their mad dash they had caught the attention of the other children in the park, who quickly proceeded to follow their example. In just under a minute, the play park was empty.

"Wow, Big D, you must get around," Harry observed dryly.

"It wasn't just me, you know. Or did you forget that you go to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys?" Dudley reminded Harry smugly.

Harry, who had indeed forgotten that that was Uncle Vernon's way of explaining Harry's absences (during which he was actually attending Hogwarts) to the neighbors, quickly said, "I'm surprised you can remember such a long string of big words, Dudley."

"Well, after hearing Dad say it so many times to the neigh- hey! Shut your mouth, Potter! I brought you here so we could talk without anyone overhearing us!"

"Well, if you keep yelling like that you would have gone to all this trouble for nothing, wouldn't you?"

"Would you be quiet already?"

"Practice what you preach, Dudders."

Dudley only crossed his arms and sat down on the nearest bench with a great "Humph!" in reply. Harry sighed in resignation and sat down on the same bench, though as far away as possible. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

Dudley appeared to be getting flustered again, but took a deep breath and seemed to focus. It was the exact opposite as back in the street, as he was now speaking slowly and stopping to think instead of babbling nervously.

"Last summer…that night we were heading home together…when those w-w-wiz…"

"Wizard?" Harry supplied flatly.

"Wiz-ard guards…those dementoids-"

"Dementors," Harry corrected.

"Yeah, dementors…when they came for you and…they made it cold…."

Harry watched as Dudley gestured to his chest, and he remembered the plunging cold feeling elicited by dementors. He feared just what he would see and hear if one came close to him now; he had so many terrible events to relive. Harry shook himself out of those thoughts and looked back at Dudley, who had been watching him, much to Harry's displeasure. Dudley quickly averted his gaze and continued.

"You- well, you made them go away somehow…."

"I thought you said it was _me_ who made it 'go cold', and put all those _voices_ in your head," Harry said harshly.

"I know, I know I said that to Mum and Dad, but…I got to thinking after that day-and save it, I'm trying to ask you something," for Harry had looked skeptical at the mention of Dudley thinking. Harry gestured for his cousin to go on. "Anyway, I got to thinking about what had happened, and how even Mum knew about the dementors. I knew then that they had to be real, and that you had to have made them go away somehow. But they were so, so _powerful_, I couldn't even move…and you made them go away…and I…I just wondered-how you…"

"How I made the dementors go away?" Harry inquired slowly, eyes widening. That a Dursley, _Dudley_ especially, who'd had several magical accidents already, could _ever_ be interested in learning about magic was simply mind-boggling. Dudley looked down at the ground as though it were the most interesting thing in the world, and nodded silently.

When Harry was finally able to get sounds out of his gaping mouth, he stumbled around his answer. "W-wow. Dudley-are you-are you _sure_ you want to know this? I mean, you hate magic-see?" for Dudley had cringed as the dreaded "M-word" passed through Harry's lips.

"I-I want to know. Yes. I want to know what Mum and Dad are so scared of. I …I can't exactly bring it up with them, you know," said Dudley.

"That's an understatement," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"Yeah," Dudley said softly, with a grimace. "You're the only person I can ask, obviously."

"Actually, I'm not," said Harry, finally sensing a way to begin this difficult conversation.

"What are you talking about?" asked Dudley. "You've seen how my parents act if you mention you-know-what."

"First of all, I won't tell you anything unless you can say it, Dudley."

"S-say what?" asked Dudley, growing uneasy.

"Come on, Big D. Don't you know that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself? Now, repeat after me-"

"Potter, I'm not doing this stupid-"

"Just do it, or I won't tell you a thing. And then maybe I'll just mosey on back to the house and _casually_ mention this little conversation here to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia," Harry said, smirking.

"No! You can't do that, Potter!"

"Then repeat after me: _magic_."

Dudley looked pleadingly at his cousin, then quickly looked around to check that they were alone. He fixed his gaze on the ground once more, and then whispered, "M-ma-gic."

"_Magic_," Harry repeated, more forcefully then before.

Dudley cleared his throat as if preparing it for the forbidden word, then said quietly but firmly, "_Magic_."

"Wizard," said Harry.

"W-w-wiz…_wizard_," Dudley finally managed.

"Witch."

Dudley had much less trouble with this one, for some reason. He's probably insulted several women with it before, thought Harry. He gave one more for his cousin to try. "Squib."

"Squib?" Dudley questioned. "What's that?"

"It's more of a 'who' question, Dudley. Mrs. Figg is one, you know," said Harry.

"Mrs. Figg is a…a ma-gi-cal…person?" asked Dudley, completely taken aback.

"Actually, not quite," Harry continued. "There are four types of magical people, you see: purebloods, half bloods, Muggle-borns, and Squibs."

"What are all those?" asked Dudley, looking confused.

"First you need to know what Muggles are. We call nonmagic people, like you and your parents, Muggles. A pureblooded wizard doesn't have a single drop of Muggle blood in him, and is born into the magical world to magical parents. A Muggle-born is a witch or wizard born into a Muggle family, like my Mum."

Dudley looked uncomfortable at the mention of his late aunt, but Harry didn't care, and continued. "A half blood is a wizard or witch born to at least one part-Muggle parent. That would be what I am. And a Squib is born into a wizard family, but with no powers-Mrs. Figg."

"Mrs. Figg _knows_ about all this rubbish?" said Dudley, unthinking in his shock.

"Magic," said Harry defensively, glaring at his cousin, "is _not_ rubbish. It saved your sorry hide that day last summer, didn't it? Or have you already forgotten why you're asking me these questions in the first place?"

"Alright, alright. It's not rubbish. But then why…" Dudley trailed off, hesitant to ask his next question.

"Why what?" said Harry, growing impatient, though this did little to get the words out of his cousin. "Come on, Dudley, there are only," he paused to glance at his new watch, "thirteen hours left of my birthday. I have a date with my white walls, you know. Don't want to be late!"

Harry could tell he was grating on Dudley's last nerves, which was the desired effect. He was sure that this was the only way to get his cousin to spit it out. Sure enough, the question came forth (though with more force than necessary).

"What happened to you over there? Over in the m-magical world? Every year you come back moodier than the last; this year especially. And who is Cedric, anyhow? And Sirius? And why do you keep dreaming about them? And what-"

"Stop," Harry whispered. Dudley, who had turned away slightly while asking his stream of unknowingly painful questions, now looked back at his cousin. His eyes grew wide when he saw Harry's face contorted with pain, his eyes unusually bright. ****

"Harry?"

"_Shut up_," Harry hissed slowly. He continued in a fierce whisper that seemed to frighten Dudley more than any shouting could have. "You have no right to ask me that. You have _no right_! After everything you've done to me, everything you had others do to me-you think you can ask me that? I hate you, remember? You hate me. You've always done everything you could to make my life hell, and I will _not__-_ _ever__- _confide in you about my horrible life!"

Harry shot up from the bench and strode over to the park gate without looking back once, hiding his brimming eyes from his cousin. He was breathing heavily from the painful memories currently flooding his mind, and he fought to keep from stumbling under the waves of guilt and grief that prevented any coherent thought.

"Hey, it's ickle Harry-kins," an obnoxious, derisive voice called out. Harry stopped and turned his head slightly to the side and saw Dudley's gang, bereft of their leader. Piers had spoken.

"What's little baby Potter doing out here all alone?" he asked in a mock-baby voice-which was the exact wrong thing to say.

_"Aaaaaah…did you _love_ him, little baby Potter?"_

Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rang through Harry's head, and suddenly images of the Department of Mysteries flashed before his eyes. All of his emotions-his sorrow, guilt, rage-swelled inside of him, building up an immense power he'd never felt before. He barely had sense enough left to register the odd, cooling feeling in his scar. The boys, who had surrounded Harry when he'd stopped, all shot back with their eyes wide.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" Piers managed to stutter out of his fright. Harry barely heard him as the power suddenly released. His vision, now devoid of any painful memories, darkened, and Harry knew no more.****

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** I know, weird place to stop, but I had to get this out while I could. I had to restart my computer four times in barely forty minutes while I was editing, and I can't put in certain punctuation symbols for some reason -_-*

Aww, no reviews this time. Oh well. Thanks to the few of you who have reviewed before, you kept me going even at two in the morning (and with a sprained wrist)! Just so you know, I may not be able to update for a little while. My school's currently in Dead Week (dun dun dun! AAAAH! FINALS, NO!), and finals (AAAHH!) are next week. I'll probably be able to write a bit over the next week and a half, especially on the weekend, but the update will be a bit longer, I think. 

**Next time:** (I should quit writing these 'next time' blurbs. I never seem to be sticking to my plans! Stupid tangents…oh well, I'll still try) Will Harry tell Dudders about life in the wizarding world? Will he _actually_ get a plan?


	6. The Watch Guard

**AN:** Yo people! I'm sorry I haven't updated in (glances at calendar) ACK! Ten days! Ergh, I'm disgusted with myself. Well, finals are over, and I'm currently enjoying a five-day weekend over which I plan to catch up on my writing. Here's your chapter, enjoy! 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry's head _hurt_.

He winced and refused to even attempt to open his wet eyes. He was about to groan and sit up when he became aware of loud voices a short distance away. He stopped moving and feigned sleep in hopes of grasping the conversation.

"Are you insinuating that I am a liar?" Harry recognized the bellow of his Uncle Vernon.

"I'm not insinuating anything, Dursley. I'm saying _you are a liar_." It took Harry a moment to realize he knew that gruff voice to be that of one Mad-Eye Moody. He wondered why he would be here, and talking to Uncle Vernon, no less. 

"How dare you!" Uncle Vernon blustered. "You have some cheek to come onto _my_ property, into my _own home_, then accuse me of mistreating my freaky little nephew!"

"If you'd bothered to listen to me, Dursley," Moody continued, unimpressed by the other man's temper, "you'd know what I was accusing you of. I never said you'd 'mistreated' Potter, I said you'd _neglected_ to keep watch over him."

"What the bloody hell should I care where the little blighter goes?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"Don't you call him that, you deranged porker!" a new voice had been added to the argument. Harry's fuzzy, aching brain was slow to identify the newcomer as Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror and Order member he'd met only last year. Apparently Uncle Vernon was too affronted to retort, as all Harry could hear were the telltale choking noises of his Uncle's purple-faced rage. Another new voice, Remus Lupin's, managed to be both polite and incredibly menacing at once.

"If you would kindly keep your voices down, I believe Harry has a headache."

Harry hadn't realized he'd grabbed his head during Uncle Vernon's shouting, and slowly opened his eyes now that he'd been found out. It was blissfully dark in the room, which Harry recognized as the Dursleys' living room. He didn't think he'd been out long enough for it to have grown dark, as the last he remembered it'd been nearly lunchtime, so he reckoned the Order members must have done something to dim the midday light.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" Lupin inquired softly, moving to the couch upon which Harry was laying and kneeling down.

"Fine," he tried to reply, but the vibrations of his vocal chords only made his head buzz more. "Ow," he finally managed to whisper, wincing.

Lupin smiled slightly, though worry was still evident in his eyes. "Do you think you can sit up?" he asked.

Harry didn't want to chance nodding, so he slowly eased his upper back off the couch cushions. The ensuing head rush made him still for about two minutes, clutching his head. When the buzzing faded, he looked up expectantly at Lupin to find him holding a cup with some kind of potion in it.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It's a pain relieving potion-a strong one," Lupin said softly.

Suddenly Harry grew suspicious, and his eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you want me to face the boggart that first Defense lesson in third year?"

Lupin looked slightly taken aback at the sudden question, while Harry could swear he heard Moody murmur something along the lines of, "That's my boy!"

Coming back to his senses, Lupin quickly answered, "I was afraid the boggart would take the form of Lord Voldemort and frighten all the other students."

Harry smiled apologetically and reached for the potion. A few moments after downing the whole of it, he felt his head clearing and the painful buzzing slowly stopped. "Thank you," he sighed in relief.

"No problem," Lupin smiled, and then grew serious. "Harry, can you tell us what happened today? What's the last thing you remember?"   

Harry frowned, trying to piece his memory together. "I was talking with Dudley, and he asked me…something," he avoided saying what exactly, shifting his eyes around to see if his cousin was there. Surprisingly he _was_ in the room, as were his parents, who were also listening. Harry briefly wondered why they cared to find out what had happened and continued. "I got up and started coming back here…and Dudley's gan-friends," he quickly corrected upon remembering that his Aunt and Uncle were in the vicinity, "came up to me…one of them-Piers-said something that set me off. I got angry and saw…I saw flashes of what happened at the Ministry last year," he mumbled, keeping his eyes low to avoid the pity he feared to be in the eyes of the wizard in front of him. "Then I woke up here with a supreme headache." 

"And you don't know how you got here?" Lupin asked gently.

"No, though I assume you guys carried or levitated me in somehow," Harry replied.

Lupin, Moody and Tonks all shared a look that immediately put Harry on edge; he saw that the Dursleys were doing the same in their own group. Now he was really worried.

"What's going on? What's the matter?" he asked.

Lupin was the one who answered. "Nobody carried you here, Harry. They didn't levitate you, either."

"Then how the hell did I get here? Will you just tell me, I don't like being kept in the dark," Harry said, glaring.

"That's just it-we're not certain."

Harry stilled. If they didn't bring him here, and the Dursleys didn't either, then what had happened? He was unconscious at the time; did they expect _him_ to explain? He grumpily said as much.

"You weren't really unconscious, Harry," said Lupin, "this will require some explaining."

"I'll say," grumbled Harry, though no one heard him.

"It all starts with your birthday," Lupin began. "The watch we sent you does far more than tell time. It tells us where you are, at all times."

"You mean you've been keeping track of me through this?" Harry asked, holding up his wristwatch. "That spell must have been part of your 'improvement' of it. It's certainly an improvement to being constantly watched and followed-and a lot more reliable than Mundungus Fletcher."

"Quite right, Harry," Lupin said, smiling. "And that's not all it does. It also has spells on it that will alert us when any outside powerful, dangerous, or unfriendly magic is used within twenty feet of you. We can use the locator to tell us where to Apparate in order to help you out."

"What if it happens at Hogwarts? You can't Apparate on the grounds, as Hermione has told me thousands of times," said Harry.

"We have these," Lupin said, pulling something that was around his neck out from under his robes. It was a small brass charm, shaped into two letter "M's" overlapping each other. "We each have different ones just in case the wrong hands ever gets a hold of them. They won't see any similarities between them and will assume they're just regular pendants. These are specialized Portkeys that will get us past almost any anti-Apparation wards and to your side."

"Then you may be seeing a lot of me, as Malfoy's quite fond of sending 'unfriendly' spells my way," said Harry.

Tonks laughed and said, "Oh, we've thought of that. The watch can tell us what the spell was and can sense the caster's magical signature. Anyone who's ever used a wand is catalogued at the Improper Use of Magic office. Being an Auror makes it very easy to get any files one may need for certain business," she finished with a wicked grin.

"You mean this watch can do all _that_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Now Tonks, don't go corrupting Harry's impressionable young mind with your shady ways," Lupin joked. "But she's right, Harry, your little watch can really do all that."

"But what's this all got to do with what happened today?" asked Harry.

"I was getting to that," said Lupin. "You had to know this in order to fully understand the severity of what happened today." At Harry's "Oh," he continued. "Your watch went off this morning at about ten minutes after eleven. Naturally, Alastor, Tonks and I Apparated to the site indicated by the locator immediately. Odd thing, however-you weren't there."

"Not there?" Harry repeated, confused. "What do you mean? The watch sent you to the wrong place?"

"No, actually, it didn't. Your cousin here," Lupin gestured to Dudley, "was the only conscious person in the area at the time. He claimed to have seen you there only a moment before we arrived, and that you'd simply 'disappeared,' as he put it."

Harry looked over at his cousin. Dudley hadn't flinched when he was mentioned as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had, though he did look a little green. "I disappeared?" he asked. Dudley could only nod, glancing up at Harry's face. "Wait a minute," he continued, frowning at the three Order members, "what do you mean he was the only 'conscious' person there?"

"Well," said Lupin looking torn between amusement and confusion, "Dudley said that right before you disappeared, some kind of blue light flashed out of you and knocked the boys that had surrounded you about fifteen feet back. Apparently, it knocked them _out_ as well."

"And then I just…disappeared?" said Harry worriedly. He couldn't remember _any_ of this! He didn't like being in the dark about anything, and this was some very deep dark. He also didn't like the fact that he'd caused people (no matter that they were Dudley's gang members) magical harm without knowledge or control of it. What on earth had happened to him? _Why_ was this happening to him? "Where did I go? You must've found me, as I'm here now," he said shakily.

"We did find you, but it was because you were already here. We came to the house right after we got the story from your cousin to see if you'd returned. I suspect you may have performed some kind of accidental Apparation and landed here."

Harry found this plausible, though only slightly. Although he'd accidentally Apparated before (when he was being chased by Dudley and his friends) when he was much younger, that had only been a very short distance. The street he'd allegedly Disapparated from had been a good half-mile from the house. This fact did not alleviate Harry's unease in the slightest.

"When we found you, you were in your room upstairs and in quite a state," Lupin said before being interrupted by Tonks, who'd kept remarkably quiet until now.

"Yeah, you were doing the weirdest thing. You had your eyes open, but they weren't green-they didn't even have whites or pupils. They were this bright, glittery blue-silver colour, and so was your scar. You were just standing in the middle of your room, but things were blowing around as if you were standing in the middle of a windstorm! Then all of a sudden-"

"Tonks!" Lupin cut her off sharply, noticing the nearly catatonic look Harry's face had taken on. "Harry? Harry, are you alright? Harry, listen to me-"

"Then what happened, Tonks?" Harry said blankly, turning his eyes toward said Auror. She continued, flustered, as Harry looked not at her but through her.

"Er, well-er, all of a sudden, the wind stopped. Then you, erm, started saying something-like a rhyme or riddle I think, though now I can't remember what exactly. Your eyes were still glowing blue as you talked, and you sounded different. But then you finished and blinked. You looked up at us for a second and we saw you were back to normal, right before you, er, passed out," she finished quickly. Lupin and Tonks gazed apprehensively at Harry now that their story was done, while both of Moody's eyes were fixed intently on the young wizard's face.

Harry, for his part, didn't know what to say to the expectant wizards and witch. What _does_ one say when they find out their magical powers had not only injured others, but also transported one's possessed body mysteriously in a way no one could explain?

"Oh," he said. 

Tonks snorted, effectively shattering the tension that had befallen those in the living room. "You have such a way with words," she said. Harry gave a slight, sheepish grin and dropped his gaze. He quickly grew serious once more, however, and asked the question that had been plaguing his mind for the past several minutes before he could stop himself.

"Why did you all come here in the first place? I thought the watch only notified you when someone _else's_ magic was used in my general area? You know, 'outside unfriendly spells?' You said _I've_ done all this."

Lupin sighed. "You're growing too observant for your own good, Harry. Yes, it's true that your watch notifies the Order of _outside_ spells, and that's the part we're worried about." He looked meaningfully into Harry's eyes, leaving everyone's worst fear unsaid: _an outside spell from Lord Voldemort._ He'd tried to possess Harry before; maybe he'd done it again today.

Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. He couldn't remember feeling the incomparable pain of possession by the Dark Lord, but he couldn't remember any of the other events either. Thinking even harder, he suddenly recalled feeling an energizing, cooling sensation in his scar-nothing even remotely like the debilitating, burning pain associated with Lord Voldemort. He could remember the cool very clearly now, he could almost actually feel it…. 

"No," he said ponderingly, "I don't think it was Voldemort this time."

The Order members looked surprised at the young wizard's intuition and diligence, even Moody. "And why not, Potter?" he asked.

Harry turned to Moody, whose eyes widened to see the glittery blue back in them. "Because," Harry said in a voice not his own, "it was I." 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** Ooh, that's a cliffhanger if I ever saw one. Hmm, hope you don't mind too much. I used to hate them myself, but then I realized that cliffies make past events easier to remember for the next update. So really, I'm doing y'all a favor. 

…

BWA HAHAHA!

**Next time:** Who (or what) has a hold on Harry? What does he want with our precious Boy-Who-Lived?

**Review Response** (yes, singular, as in ONE [wonderful!] person reviewed last chapter):

**GrimmyD:** Thanks for keeping me going, and here you go!

And special thanks to **hope** for reviewing my other little story! The review was completely out of the blue and made me happy, especially since it came during my English final (blech _)!


	7. Possessions and Puzzles

**AN:** Squee! Oh my god, I'm on someone's favorite authors list (thank you, SolcieNTalin)! And I'm on SIX peoples' Author Alert watch! You've made me so happy I'm giving y'all this chapter two days early, and it's my longest one yet. Squee!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lupin, Moody and Tonks were all stunned into silence; until, that is, the constantly vigilant Mad-Eye Moody quickly whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry's heart. The other two were quick to follow, each training their wands in the most vulnerable areas. Harry, on the other hand, hadn't even blinked.

"Who are you?" demanded Moody. "What do you want with the boy?"

The voice using Harry's mouth spoke again, still gazing at Moody. "Neither is of your concern. I mean him no harm."

"No harm!" said Lupin, glaring heatedly into Harry's eyes. "You're possessing him!"

"Again!" added Tonks.

"Things are not what they appear, young ones. Sometimes help can come from most unusual sources."

"And how, _exactly_, does possessing a sixteen year old boy help anybody?" said Moody, scathingly.

"As I said before, things are not always as they may seem. I'm not possessing the Young Prince, merely serving as his guide," said the voice.

"Guide? To what?" challenged Lupin.

"I am guiding him to the path to triumph; the path to wisdom; the path to life."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" demanded Tonks. 

"I have finished my task today. That will be all." Harry slowly closed his eyes and lowered his head. When he finally looked up, Lupin, Moody and Tonks saw the familiar brilliant green of his eyes before they rolled back and he fell forward. 

Harry could vaguely hear voices shouting from very far away before succumbing to the dark once again.

For the second time in the space of a few hours, Harry awoke to a pounding headache. Knowing to whom he'd be waking up this time, he groaned and sat up, announcing his return from unconsciousness to the quiet voices above him.

"Harry!" whispered Lupin, sounding relieved. Harry could hear some slight clinking noises that he identified to be the pouring of more pain-relieving potion. Lupin gently took his hand and placed the cup into it once again. "Drink up," he said.

Harry didn't need to think twice this time, and gulped down the lot. After the painful buzzing had subsided, he looked around and noticed he was no longer on the couch in the Dursleys' living room, but in his own bed. He slowly returned his gaze to Lupin, and spoke apprehensively. "It happened again, didn't it?"

Lupin only nodded. "Do you remember anything?"

Harry's forehead creased in concentration; after a few moments, his eyes widened in astonishment. "Y-yes, I do!"

The Aurors and Lupin looked amazed as well. "How much can you remember, Harry?" said Tonks.

"It was when you…well, sort of implied that Voldemort may have cast an outside spell on me earlier," Harry began. "I was trying to remember if I'd felt any pain in my scar before I'd blacked out, but instead I remembered feeling a sort of…cool feeling."

"What was so cool about it?" said Tonks.

"No, I mean it was just…cold. But not painful, in fact it felt rather nice."

Moody's magical eye was incessantly roving over Harry. "Has your scar ever felt like that before, Potter?" he asked.

"No, never. It's always been a burning pain with Voldemort," he said.

"I see…well, then what?" Moody went on impatiently.

"Er, right," said Harry. "Well, after a second it felt like I wasn't just remembering the feeling anymore–it was like I was actually feeling it right then. Then somebody started talking…but he was talking through me…."

"Do you remember what he said?" Tonks asked quickly.

"Yeah," said Harry quietly. "He said he meant me no harm, and that he was my guide, and that…erm…." Harry was about to inform them of where he'd actually been during his little incident, but then thought better of it. That was something he'd have to tell Dumbledore as soon as he could.

"What is it, Harry?" said Lupin kindly. "Do you remember something else?"

"No. No, it was nothing; just something from a dream," he said quickly to avoid the subject.

Apparently, this was not a good thing to say as Lupin's eyes widened and grew worried. "A dream, Harry?" he asked quickly.

"No! Not one of _those_ dreams," said Harry. "Don't worry, I haven't dreamt of Voldemort for a while now," he added. 

Lupin relaxed and smiled apologetically. "Are you going to be alright, Harry?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll be fine. Why?" said Harry.

"We need to be getting back to Headquarters. I really don't want to leave you alone, but we need to talk to Dumbledore before we can do anything about this mess. I'm afraid all I can do is leave you with this pain-relieving potion," said Lupin, holding out the glass vial. Handing it to Harry, he added, "Just take a quarter of a cup if…_that_ ever happens again, okay?"

Harry nodded. 

"See you, Harry," said Tonks with a smile before she Disapparated. Moody simply nodded and Disapparated after a murmured, "Potter."

Lupin was last. "Well, see you later, Harry. I'll be in touch soon, take care of yourself."

"Bye then," said Harry, and Lupin Disapparated as well. 

Take care of himself. Didn't he always?  

Harry had gone to bed soon after the members of the Order had departed. He'd had an exceptionally easy time falling asleep, and had no dreams at all, visions or otherwise.

When he woke up the next day, he lay in bed wondering what to tell Dumbledore. A letter to the Headmaster of Hogwarts was the first step in the plan he'd come up with before falling asleep last night, though it didn't make writing to him that much more desirable. With a reluctant sigh, Harry heaved himself out of bed and over to his desk for some parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. After sucking his quill for quite a while in thought, he finally began his letter to the Headmaster.

**Dear Professor Dumbledore,**

**Thank you for the Pensieve, sir. I really do appreciate it, and you can be sure I'll be using it often when I get to Hogwarts. But the isn't just a thank you not; I have a request.**

Now as I'm sure Lupin, Moody and Tonks have already told you, something happened to me yesterday. But they could tell you only what they themselves saw and heard; and I was able to see something very important that they couldn't.

**I can't explain what it was in this letter, as apparently important information can't be sent by owl anymore, especially when it concerns me. It'd be hard to do, anyway. My request of you is that I be removed from this house and to where I was last summer. I know I need to stay here for the protection the house offers, but if I'm over there you (and no one else) can look at this memory of mine; I would allow it this time.**

**Please consider my request, and thank you again for your gift.**

**H.P.**

Harry reread the letter, satisfied with the slight jab at Dumbledore in the middle of it. He was certain his point would get across even through his vague words; he was willing to let the Headmaster use Legilimency on him to search his mind for the memory. 

He wished he could just show it to Dumbledore through his Pensieve, but that would mean he'd have to wait until he got to Hogwarts, as he wasn't yet allowed to perform any magic outside of school. That would defeat the entire purpose of the letter, as the whole point of Harry's plan was to get to Grimmauld Place. He remembered what had happened yesterday afternoon… 

While the mysterious voice had been talking to the Order members, Harry had actually been lost in another vision. He had been able to hear the Order members' conversation, but only in the background. His main focus had been on what had been shown and spoken to him at the time.

When Harry had been taken over, his dream self had been slammed back to the enormous oak tree he'd seen just the night before in his first vision. This time, however, the young woman had been absent. The red-haired man had stood before the tree alone, gazing at Harry.

"Who are you?" Harry had asked.

"You already know my name, do you not, Young Prince?" the man had replied.

Harry had frowned, trying to remember. "You're Dirk Everard."

Dirk had smiled. "Correct, Harry Potter, as usual."

Harry's frown had deepened. "How do you know my name? And how did you know that I'd seen you here before? Who are you really?"

"Easy there, Young Prince," Dirk had said, laughing. "All will be answered in good time. Time that I, unfortunately, do not have at the moment. Your friends will soon want you back to normal, I'd wager. They don't seem to enjoy my company as much as they do yours." 

It was then Harry had realized that he could hear what was being said back with his real self. "You're possessing him!" he could hear Lupin nearly yelling, though he sounded very far away.

"If you can't tell me anything now, then why did you bring me here?" he'd asked

"Do not think that I brought you here to tell you nothing, Young One. I simply haven't time to answer all I know you wish to ask. If you desire to know the cause for what has been happening to you of late, as well as about myself and your fate, you must heed the message of your godfather."

Harry's head had nearly spun. "What?" was all he could manage to gasp out.

"Heed your godfather's message, Young Prince. It is the only way for you to succeed in fulfilling your prophecy."

Harry could only stand there, mouth agape as Dirk had grasped Harry's shoulders bracingly. "And you must succeed, Harry. I must take my leave now. Heed the message." And Dirk had disappeared.

The world had spun violently, shoving Harry's dream self back into his physical body. He had looked up to see Lupin, Moody and Tonks staring at him worriedly before he'd blacked out. 

After the wizards and witch had left, Harry had rummaged around for Sirius's last letters. While the birthday letter contained wonderful words of wisdom, Harry got the feeling the strange second letter had been what Dirk was referring to.

While reading though the letter, Harry had made mental notes of important points–Sirius had discovered "an extremely thin book with no title, only an intricate, silver compass rose embossed on the leather cover," in the Black library; he'd been Portkeyed to a "rather large, circular, black room lit only by floating orbs of light," before being forced back; the only words in the book had been: "Fortunes told in days of old felled the bold and made blood cold. Find the Records, Seek them out, the Seeker will win the Bout;" and then Sirius had said that Harry had to get that book. 

Perhaps the most important message, to Harry anyway, had been his godfather's last words: "Don't dwell on the dead so long that you forget to live." These last words had been the final push needed to give him the courage to request being sent to the last house Sirius had ever lived in. Were it not for the inspirational message from beyond the veil, Harry would never have asked to go back to Grimmauld Place, where painful memories were sure to overwhelm him. With this mission in mind, however, he hoped he would be distracted enough to avoid those thoughts.

He could only hope that Dumbledore would be enticed into letting Harry leave the Dursleys early so he could put his plan into action. If he couldn't get to Grimmauld Place, he couldn't get to the Portkey book. If he couldn't get the book, he'd never find out what Dirk wanted to tell him. And with information on the prophecy at stake, he couldn't afford to lose this chance.

Harry was brought out of his reverie by the sound of Hedwig rattling her cage. Apparently she'd grown impatient waiting for her owner to give her the letter he'd been holding for about ten minutes.

"Sorry, girl," he said smiling apologetically, "but I'm not nearly finished yet. You can go back to sleep, and I'll wake you when I'm ready." The owl gave a disgruntled but resigned sort of hoot and refolded her head under her wing. Harry put his letter to Dumbledore aside and moved on to his Hogwarts sign-up sheet. He now saw that it had small checkboxes beside the course titles, as well as an empty slot at the bottom for anything not included on the list but still desired by the recipient.

**Eligible Sixth Year Courses for: HARRY POTTER**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Astronomy**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Care of Magical Creatures**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Transfiguration**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Potions**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Charms**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Defense Against the Dark Arts**

**Advanced (N.E.W.T. Level) Herbology**

**Note: Marking any new electives you may wish to take is prohibited, as you will not have the prior knowledge required for the Advanced classes. The extra box is for EXTRACURICULAR N.E.W.T. LEVEL CLASSES ONLY. **

Harry still wondered how he'd become eligible for Snape's N.E.W.T. Potions class. Shaking his head slightly, he checked the Potions box, as well as the boxes for Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He gazed over the list once more before marking Care of Magical Creatures as well, not wanting to let Hagrid down. He also remembered that Professor McGonagall had told him that the Ministry wouldn't accept anyone without at least five "Exceeds Expectations" N.E.W.T.s for Auror training, and Hagrid's class would make five. Harry hoped he would be able to achieve at least one "Outstanding" N.E.W.T., as he had a strong feeling that he would utterly fail Potions.

That out of the way, Harry began writing thank you letters to his friends, starting with Luna's "Snorkack horn." He didn't need to write to Remus or the Order, so he tackled Neville's next.

**Dear Neville,**

**It's good to hear from you mate, thanks for your letter. I hope your summer's been more fun than mine.**

**As for whether or not I'll start up the D.A. again, I'll have to wait and see. If we actually get a competent Defense teacher, we may not have to hold any meetings. Plus I don't know how my year will shape up, schedule-wise. If the D.A. is needed next year, we'll have, don't worry about that.**

**Tell your Gran thanks for what she said about my parents, and also that I said you'll always do your family name proud.**

**Harry**

Harry put this aside and grabbed Ron's letter, rereading it before writing the reply to his best friend.

**Dear Ron,**

**Thanks for the candy; it always helps after eating the rubbish Aunt Petunia insists I eat. Has Hermione gotten her O.W.L.s yet? Wait, don't answer that. She'll send me an emergency owl when she does. **

**Guess what? I got nine O.W.L.s too! I got E's in Astronomy, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration and Potions. I know, I know, how could I have ever managed an E in Potions? That's not the weirdest bit, though. McGonagall said Snape only takes people with an "Outstanding" Potions O.W.L., but I'm still eligible for his class! I reckon she threatened to transfigure him into a greasy rodent or something. **

**Anyway, I got a P in Divination too, and a D in History of Magic. Not that I care about those classes anyway, they're complete wastes of time. And then I got O's in Defense and Care of Magical Creatures.**

**Just so you know, I haven't yet received any groveling letter from Percy. I really hope he doesn't send me one; and if he does, I'll just have you and Ginny kick him in the shins for me. I've know that Fred and George have been exacting their revenge on him already, so maybe you and your sister should get in on it as well.**

**See you soon (I hope),**

**Harry**

**P.S.- Don't worry about me keeping my feelings inside this year, I got a Pensieve from Dumbledore.**

When Harry had finished, he was about to move on to Hermione's letter when he realized he hadn't yet tried out her gift; the same went for the Weasley twins' sample box. Deciding that Hedwig had enough letters to deliver anyway, he collected his replies and woke up his slumbering owl. When she saw he was finally ready to use her, Hedwig fluttered her wings and stretched out her leg for Harry.

"Take these to Hogwarts first, alright? That way Dumbledore can get my classes and my request as soon as possible," Harry told her.

With an affectionate nibble on his finger and a determined hoot, Hedwig flew out the window. Harry watched the owl disappear into the morning sun before turning from the window, looking at his birthday presents. He slowly walked over to the two unopened boxes and reached out for Hermione's puzzle, deciding it was the safer of the remaining two. 

Upon glancing at his watch and discovering that it was only a quarter after nine o'clock, Harry decided that this would be a suitable activity for the day. Not yet feeling hungry enough to go downstairs and face his relatives at breakfast, he opened the box and gazed at the pieces inside. Much to his relief, Harry found that the pictures on the pieces were stationary; it would have been much more difficult to put a puzzle together if the picture was moving, as wizarding pictures were known to do.

After removing all the edge pieces from the box, Harry worked on fitting them all together to form the border. Working from the outside in, he had finished almost half of it an hour and a half later, when he finally noticed his stomach rumbling. He rolled his eyes and got up off the floor, where he'd been laying before the puzzle, and reluctantly headed downstairs to the kitchen. He was surprised, however, to find the house deserted. 

While not exactly expecting a warm reception from his relatives, he had certainly never thought they would simply abandon him without even a word. They'd probably taken yesterday's events more badly than he'd thought they would. He was getting rather annoyed when he finally noticed a short, hastily written note placed on the table under the salt. Harry picked it up, spilling the salt in the process. He cursed softly before turning to the note.

**Harry:**

**We've gone to a special event held by Vernon's boss. Its location is a few hours away, so we will be gone for the rest of the day and night. He wanted to meet Dudley as well, so you will be alone. Food is in the fridge. Stay in the house.**

**Petunia            **

That's odd, thought Harry. How could the Dursleys not brag for days on end about something as important as an event held by Uncle Vernon's boss? This was the first he'd heard about it. Though Harry reckoned that his relatives had simply gotten miffed about all the magic in the house yesterday, he still thought the situation suspicious.

After eating a quick lunch, Harry went back upstairs to finish his puzzle. About an hour later, the last piece was ready to be put into place. Harry slowly lowered the piece into its proper position, pleased he'd actually finished it. He was about to get up off the floor to admire his work when a beautiful, trilling note rang throughout the room.

Startled, Harry froze and looked back down at the puzzle, only to freeze again in shock at what he was seeing.

Brilliant golden light was slowly working its way through the seams of the puzzle and around the border. The trilling note came again when all the golden lines met in the center. Suddenly the light flashed blindingly, and Harry threw his arm up to shield his eyes. The brilliance slowly faded, and the note rang out once more.

Harry lowered his arm and stared in wonder at the puzzle before him. Only it was no longer a puzzle–it was a wizarding portrait. The beautiful creature inside the frame trilled again, looking up at Harry, and filled him with a soaring hope.

It was a luminous, golden-red phoenix.

Well, thought Harry, at least now he understood that "ONE TIME USE ONLY" tag on the box. ****

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** And there's that sarcasm again. Honestly, Harry. ^_^ By the way, sorry for earlier (the 'squee's, you know), I really rarely make the "overexcited girlie noise." It's only when I'm REALLY happy. 

**Next Time:** Will Dumbledore accept Harry's request? Will he have to?

Review Responses (plural, yay!)

**pug320:** Thanks, and now you know it's Dirk!

**Monkey, Queen of Insanity:** Hey, nice penname! Thank you for your compliments, but you'll have to wait a bit to find out more about the light.

**Dreamyiys:** Thank you! And don't worry, no evil cliffy (this time, anyway).

**Javier:** Thank you very much, and here you go.

**trekkie87820:** Thank you! I gather by your profile that you've just begun to venture into the Harry Potter-verse, and I'm glad I could be one of your first. Here's your update!


	8. The Aftereffects

**AN:** READ THE IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM! 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That evening found Harry heading to the kitchen to scrounge together a suitable dinner for one, as the Dursleys were still out. Harry found this arrangement more than acceptable; it was far easier to enjoy a meal without all the tension that tended to follow him around like a shadow while in number four Privet Drive.

After Harry had gotten over the shock surrounding his completed puzzle, he had gently picked it up off the floor. Upon looking at the back, he discovered a hook on the frame. He took advantage of his relatives' absence and hammered a nail into one of his bleak, white walls. The beautiful phoenix now resided directly across from Harry's bed, where it would greet him every morning with a bit of magic while in the Muggle world. 

However, after the glow from the phoenix had faded, so had Harry's happy mood. With nothing to distract his mind, he soon found it wandering to Sirius. He'd never really had the opportunity to be alone since Sirius had died; he'd been with Dumbledore right afterwards, then he'd been surrounded by either students or the Dursleys. With no one else around, Harry had been able to feel the loss of his godfather like a gaping hole inside him. 

What he'd assumed to be the sound of his rumbling stomach had finally shaken Harry out of his inner turmoil. He'd sighed and made his way wearily to the refrigerator, mind only partially on the task of making a meal.

Had he been paying a bit more attention, Harry might have realized that his stomach wasn't rumbling at all. In fact, it wasn't until he nearly gagged on the smell of his cooking food that he discovered he had quite lost his appetite for the day. However, the rumbling came again and Harry grew confused.

He shook his head to drive all thoughts of Sirius out of his mind and focused on following the mysterious noise. He was drawn to the front window where he, to his vexation, took a page out of Aunt Petunia's book and peered curiously through the curtain. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he was surprised nonetheless when he saw the broken down car in front of the house. The rumbling had been the choking, grinding engine, which the driver had been trying to turn for the past several minutes.

Apparently giving up, the driver and his passenger, a woman, got out of the dead car and looked worriedly around at the houses up and down the street. Harry now noticed they were wearing coats, even though it was the middle of summer. He saw the two travelers' searching gazes fall onto number four. They then glanced at each other, and the woman leaned in to whisper something to the man. They must have come to an agreement, for the next moment they were walking resolutely up the pathway to the front door.

Harry backed away from the window to wonder whether or not he should open the door to the strangers. In his head he could almost hear Moody's voice reprimanding him for even considering it, what with all the dark wizards in disguise the man and woman could actually be (in Moody's paranoid mind, at least). But he couldn't turn them away, for no one else in the neighborhood was at home right now; many were either working, on vacations, or, in Arabella Figg's case, out doing a chore for the Order of the Phoenix. And while Harry knew next to nothing about the inner workings of a car, he could at least offer the stranded couple use of the telephone to call for a tow truck.

The knock came on the door. Mind made up, Harry crossed the living room and entered the front hall to answer. "Can I help you?" he said to the couple. The man answered.

"Yes, if you don't mind, young man. We're sorry to bother you like this, but our car has broken down," he gestured to the obstinate vehicle. "May we use your telly-fown?" 

Harry mentally noted the odd pronunciation of the word, but nodded nonetheless and moved aside to allow them entry. "It's right over here," he said, leading the couple to the phone in the hallway.

"Thank you very much, young man," the woman said, giving Harry a very odd sort of smile; it was almost manic. Harry just nodded and smiled weakly in return. He turned to close the front door, keeping one eye on the two by the phone, which the man had yet to actually touch. Harry wondered if they were just eccentric people, or if they were perhaps more dangerous. He was beginning to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; he was beginning to regret ever letting them inside. He pretended to shut the door, leaving it ajar in case an exit was needed. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he finally saw movement from the strangers–but it was not from the action of picking up the phone. Instead, they each drew something from pockets inside their coats–long, wooden, and familiar somethings…

From a quick surety born from years of Quidditch, Harry's wand was out of his pocket and pointed at the wizard and witch before him. Neither of them held traces of the false cheer they'd displayed previously; Harry knew he was in trouble. He was outnumbered; he knew that even if he managed to hit one of them, the other would have him on the ground before he could even move his wand. Harry guessed that they weren't too keen on attacking him, as they would have done so by now if that were the case. They were at a standoff. 

"Who are you?" demanded Harry.

The woman giggled oddly. "Oh, little Harry doesn't recognize us!"

"Ah, well, Polyjuice Potion will do that to a person," the man answered.

"_Who are you?_" repeated Harry.

"You'll find out in…" the woman opened a pocket watch she had removed from her coat, "thirty minutes, dearie. Oh, wait, you won't be alive by then, will you?" She let loose a scream of crazed laughter that, though it sounded distorted coming from the mouth of the copied woman, gave her identity away to Harry instantly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he ground out past his gritted teeth. _Sirius's murderer_, said a voice in the back of his mind. 

"Aw, he remembers me, isn't that sweet?" She cackled again. "But we don't have time for more guessing games, little Harry. The Dark Lord wants a word with you. Two, in fact," she sneered.

"Well bully for _Voldemort_," Harry sneered in return. 

Bellatrix's smile disappeared as she advanced on him. "Shut your filthy, half-blooded mouth! You dare let our Master's name fall from your undeserving tongue?"

"Calm yourself, Bellatrix," said the man, though he looked quite as murderous as she did, if not more so. "We must be wary of him, if you'll recall our orders. He shall be dealt with properly in the hands of the Dark Lord." 

Bellatrix glowered at Harry but she relented and stepped back. "Speaking of which," the man went on, sneering, "we should be taking Potter to him now. Wouldn't want any _undesirables_ popping in on this little leave taking."

Harry glared at the Death Eaters, wand held steadily in their direction. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"Come now, Potter, we wouldn't want things to get _nasty_ around here, would we?" said the man. "If you come quietly, we won't harm you until the Polyjuice wears off. That's another twenty seven minutes." He laughed softly.

Harry's mind was racing; what could he possibly do in this situation? The last time he'd fought Death Eaters he'd had the prophecy to offer him a sort of protection–the Death Eaters hadn't been able to curse Harry with anything that might have caused him to smash it. This time he held no such protection, and the last time he'd performed illegal magic in self-defense he'd been expelled from school! How long would it take for any help to arrive? Surely the Order would–

Harry's stomach dropped and he fought to keep the blood in his face to prevent the Death Eaters before him from knowing. The watch! It only alerted the Order when unfriendly spells were used on him, not when he was just in danger! That meant he'd have to get the two in front of him to attack in order for help to come.

Harry clenched his jaw in resolve; it had to be done, he rationalized, and surely it wouldn't take long for the Order of the Phoenix to get there. He'd faced worse than two Death Eaters before; this was nothing. His eyes narrowed further. "I'm not going _anywhere_," he nearly growled, then pointed his wand at Bellatrix. "_Stupefy_!"

Bellatrix's eyes had only enough time to widen slightly before she was hit in the chest with Harry's curse; she fell to the floor with a _thump_. 

Harry had hardly taken notice of this before the man yelled, "_Crucio_!"

An all-consuming, torturous, and unfortunately familiar pain blazed through Harry's body as it violently jerked, backing into the door and unintentionally slamming it firmly shut. Every inch of him, inside and out, was set aflame with white-hot fire. The Death Eater would not release him from the agony; every second that passed branded itself into Harry's mind, trying to rip it apart; seemingly from far, far away he could hear himself screaming endlessly…

Suddenly the curse was lifted, and Harry was left twitching and panting on the floor, tears streaming from his pain-glazed eyes.

"Harry! Oh, Merlin, _Harry_!"

He felt himself being gently pulled up into a sitting position by two hands wrapped firmly around his shoulders. He was once again gazing up into the concerned face of Remus Lupin. "Harry, can you hear me? Say something!"

Why was Lupin so worried? Harry wondered. His mind was so clouded with shock from being under the Cruciatus Curse for such a long time that he couldn't even think or understand anything. "M-Moony?" was all his befuddled brain could force out of his mouth. He was shaking so hard he stuttered.

Lupin gave Harry a relieved smile, but could not hide the worry in his eyes. "Yes, Harry, that's me. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry we didn't come sooner, but the wards around your house–they won't let us Apparate close to it at all. We got here as fast as we could, but you–you were blocking the door. Please be all right, Harry," Lupin's words had grown desperate.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn't grasp a word of Lupin's apology; he could only wonder what he was talking about. He was so tired; he just wanted to sleep. But Lupin went on. "We're taking you to Headquarters, Harry. It's too dangerous for you here, even with the blood protection. If Voldemort knows you're here, you'll never be safe. Here, hold this." 

Lupin held out a small object that Harry couldn't make out through his blurry vision. Not having understood Lupin's command, Harry didn't know what to do with it. Finally, Lupin simply grasped Harry's hand and placed a finger on the object. As soon as he touched it, Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and he was pulled through a blur of wind and color, out of number four, Privet Drive.

Harry was dreaming.

He was being pulled somewhere, so quickly, in fact, that he arrived a mere moment after his journey began. His feet landed perfectly noiselessly on the ground; it was as though he'd been standing there the whole time. Before he could look around, however, his legs wobbled and gave out underneath him. He bit back a moan of pain and held his head in his hands in an attempt to get it to quit spinning. His entire body hurt, and every few seconds he twitched suddenly, as though little bolts of electricity were coursing through him.

Somewhere above him, Harry heard a high, cold voice hiss, "Where are they?"

_Voldemort_, Harry realized with horror; he was in another vision with Voldemort! He looked up and held in another groan, this time worried that Voldemort might discover Harry's presence.

"Th-the O-order got there before they c-could t-t-take him, My Lord," said a familiar short, balding man, who was currently kneeling before the Dark Lord.

Harry saw Voldemort's red, snake-like eyes narrow. "This displeases me, Wormtail."

Wormtail whimpered softly.

"But you failed to answer my question–_where are they_?"

Wormtail grew even more nervous at his master's quiet, dangerous fury. "The-the Order, they c-captured b-b-both of th-them, M-my Lord."

"And what brought about this failure from two of my greatest Death Eaters, and on such an important mission?" Voldemort hissed, his rage nearly palpable. Harry's scar gave a burst of hot angry pain, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from making a sound. Luckily, Voldemort still had not sensed his uninvited guest.

"Y-y-your w-w-warning, M-my Lord, they w-were af-f-fraid to c-cast any sp-spells on Potter…"

"Come Harry, you must leave now," said a voice by Harry's ear. 

Harry jumped and whipped his aching head around, which proved to be a mistake.

"Dirk!" he said in surprise before the quick movement caught up to him; he hissed softly in pain and clutched his head. That could not have been any dumber, Harry thought, half expecting the wizard to laugh at him.

Dirk's face, however, held no traces of humor at all. "You must leave this place, Young Prince, or surely you will perish," he said, glancing fearfully back at Voldemort and Wormtail, who were still speaking.

"You dare to lay the blame for this failure on your _master_?" Voldemort snarled. 

"N-n-no, Master, n-never!" exclaimed Wormtail, eyes wide and almost crying in terror.

"Come, Young One, take my hand, now!" said Dirk, grasping Harry's hand.

"_Crucio_!" Voldemort bellowed. But before the searing pain could begin anew for Harry, the world silenced and froze. He barely had time to note that Dirk's hands were shaking slightly before the image before him began spinning in a blur of color.

They landed once again at the clearing with the giant oak; and Harry's legs, once again, wobbled and gave out. This time, however, Dirk grasped firmly onto his arm and lowered him slowly to the soft, grassy ground. "Harry," he whispered in relief, "thank Merlin. That was far too close to death for my heart to handle," he smiled.

Harry tried to smile in return, but for some reason his pain was steadily increasing. "Ow," was all he could manage.

"Yes, I'd expect you'd be hurting terribly right now," said Dirk. "This world connects your spirit directly to your body; your other–ah–_dreams_ draw you far away from it. Now… can you remember what happened?"

Harry struggled to recall anything he could through his growing pain. "Death Eaters," he gasped out. "Two."

To Harry's surprise (and slight disgust at the moment), Dirk smiled in relief. "Good, you can remember." Then his smile faded and his face grew serious, sad even. "The male held you under the Cruciatus Curse for more than three minutes. It takes seven to drive a fully-grown wizard mad, and a much shorter time for a younger one. If you were to have experienced more from that vision I found you in, while combined with the scar pain you would have received from having it cast by the Dark One, you may have died."

Harry didn't know what to say, even if he'd had breath enough to speak.

"I've brought you here, specifically, because only you can heal yourself completely from this torment you've experienced today," Dirk continued. "While the Healers of your time can aid you physically, your mind has suffered terribly and can only be healed by your own special magic. You possess many great powers, Young Prince, and you must unlock one of them here, now."

Harry thought his body was suffering quite a bit, actually; Dirk smiled slightly and spoke as though he'd heard Harry's thoughts.

"I know you ache, Young One, but fear not. When you unlock your healing power, _all_ your ailments will mend. Now, however, you must focus."

How could he focus with pain so great he could hardly breathe? Again, Dirk answered the unspoken question.

"You must disconnect yourself from the pain, Young One. Close your eyes. Envision your pain as a cloud of dark, dark red covering your body. Now see it all slowly moving, centering in one area of your body–your hand, perhaps. See the red cloud get bigger and bigger, red from every inch of your body adding to the mass."

Harry could see it, and his hand was hurting like mad; it was exactly as though the pain from all over his battered body had collected in his right hand–a relief for his other parts, to be sure, but his hand felt as though it would explode from the sheer volume of pain amassed in it. Dirk continued speaking in a soft, trance-inducing voice.

"See the red form into a ball; see it get smoother and smoother. Now push it to your fingertip…and push it _out_." 

A silence rang throughout the clearing for a few moments before–

BOOM.

An explosion reverberated through the forest. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** Is that a cliffhanger or just a weird place to end it? Oh well, either works for me.

Anyway, the important stuff: I have some surgery coming up next Wednesday (Feb.4)and, though I highly doubt it, I may not be able to get in another chapter before then. I'll have a week off of school afterwards, but I'm not sure how up to sitting and writing at my computer I'll be, so expect the next two (or three at absolute _worst_) updates to be a little slow. Thanks for your patients! (Ha, get it? A pun! *silence* Hmph. Well I thought it was funny.)

**Next time:** What exploded? Does Voldemort know about Harry's mysterious powers? And what's going on back with Harry's body?

**Review Responses:**

**pug320:** Thank you, though it looks like you'll have to wait to find out about Dumbledore. And thanks for being a repeat reviewer, you rock!

**sillypaulie:** Thank you! Here you go, and sorry in advance for the possible tardiness of the next chapters. By the way, I love your name. I don't know why, but I love seeing it there in my review archive!

**Monkey, Queen of Insanity:** Thanks again, and here you are, madam! By the way, "Harder to Breathe" is by Maroon 5. Yes, I read _everybody's_ profiles. 


	9. The Black Library

**AN:** Son of a bitch! I have to be at the hospital for surgery at SIX IN THE BLOODY MORNING! I never even usually wake up until a quarter to eight. Gah! Anyway, enjoy the chapter and wish me luck on the operating table.

**Disclaimer:** Why do I always forget to put these effing things up? I honestly just forget; anyway, I don't own any of these sexy and/or evil and/or annoying and/or magical characters. This is a sue-free zone, please keep it that way you bloodsuckers–er, I mean lawyers…

**P.S.–**This chapter is dedicated to **pug320** for being a great (albeit currently absent) reviewer, and to **sillypaulie** and **Monkey, Queen of Insanity **for a) being rock-steady reviewers and b) having awesome names. On to the chapter, away with you!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry snapped his eyes open and was on his feet faster than lightning. He whipped around to face Dirk, and his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged when he saw the damage done to the trees behind the older man. A black trail of scorched earth at least twenty meters wide stained the green grass, leading to the burnt remains of several trees; at least fifteen had been reduced to charcoal pencils, and many others had black burn marks. "Wha…what did that?" said Harry breathlessly.

Dirk cleared his throat and tried (and failed) to suppress a wide grin. "You did."

Harry blinked, letting this information sink in–then denying it in full. "No, really. What happened?"

At this, Dirk let out a short laugh. "Do you not believe me, Young Prince? Well, one can only accept so much shock in so short a period of time, I suppose." Dirk's smile faded, giving way to a grim line of determination. "I'm afraid I have run out of time once more, Young Prince. And it is time for you to wake up. Remember our last visit; you will find your path much clearer in the morning."

"But–" Harry tried to begin, but Dirk Everard had already disappeared. The world gave a sudden lurching spin, and Harry dreamed no more.

"Jump him…jump him!"

"Hey, you can't do that! Quit cheating!"

"I'm not cheating, you lousy git. _Jump him_!"

"I _know_ you're cheating, I saw you move that extra piece onto the board! And don't call me a lousy git, you bloody–"

"Will you guys shut up? You'll wake him up; and you're _both_ lousy gits!"

"_What_!"

A moan from Harry silenced the heated argument coming from across the room. He sat up and blinked blearily around for his glasses; when he had them on his face he quickly identified the squabbling voices.

Ron Weasley and one of the twins (Harry thought it was George) had been playing wizard's chess in the corner of the unfamiliar room. Hermione had been watching from a second bed, and had been scolding the other two–until she realized Harry was awake, of course.

"Harry! You're awake–how are you feeling? Lupin said–"

"Harry!" Ron interrupted, taking his eyes off the chessboard and therefore missing George putting another pawn by Ron's king. George caught Harry's eyes on him and gave him a wink as Ron got up and quickly crossed the room to Harry's bed. "What happened back there, mate? Lupin only mentioned something about Death Eaters on Privet Drive when he–"

"Ron, later!" said Hermione in a much softer voice. "Remember how Lupin said he'd be when he woke up, now be quiet. Harry, Lupin told us to give you this," she pulled out the small vial of pain relieving potion that Lupin had given him back at the house, "when you woke up. Harry, has this happened before? How did Lupin, and even Moody and Tonks, know what you'd need after you woke up? And Lupin said you'd know how much to take. How do you know that? What–"

She stopped when Harry held up a hand for her silence with a grimace of pain. "Oh! Of course; you need the potion. Here," said Hermione, handing him the vial and a small glass. He quickly poured his dosage and downed it in one gulp, welcoming the relief it offered.

Harry prolonged the silence that had befallen the room more than necessary, as he was trying to think of a way to avoid answering the questions he knew everyone would ask. He was unable to come up with anything better than simply ignoring them, however, so he raised his head and began asking his own questions.

"Where am I?" he said.

Ron and Hermione shared a look with George, and he left looking only slightly put out, closing the door on his way. "You're…_we're_ at the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters," said Hermione softly, not quite meeting Harry's eye.

He understood why; this was Sirius's house, and even though he'd hated it, it was the last place he'd ever lived. Harry knew his friends were being gentle about this fact, and he silently thanked them for their unnecessary consideration; they didn't know that getting to Grimmauld Place had been his every intent. He only nodded, and then stood up to leave the room.

Ron and Hermione made to follow him, but he paused and said, "I'd… I'd kind of like to look around…alone…for awhile–if you don't mind, of course," he added hastily.

Ron looked like he rather minded a bit, but Hermione nudged him and spoke over any forthcoming protests. "Of course we don't mind, Harry. We'll be here if you need us."

"Thanks," said Harry with a smile, soft but genuine. He went through the door and into the hallway, shutting the door on the way out as George had done. It wasn't that he didn't want Ron and Hermione around, he was actually very grateful for friends like them; he just had some rather important business to attend to–in the Black library.

Now, thought Harry, where is the library, anyway? He didn't remember Sirius saying anything about it before his mysterious letter arrived a few days ago, and the house was so large–the library could be anywhere. Though it would have taken a considerably shorter amount of time to ask one of the Order members if they knew the library's whereabouts, Harry opted to wander around and get reacquainted with the revamped Headquarters. 

The last time he'd been in Grimmauld Place, it had been mostly cleaned out but very plain and barren. In his absence over the past several months, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had been polished, painted, and furnished. Most of the serpentine décor remained, however, as throwing it out or selling it (as would likely be the case with Mundungus Fletcher on the job) would raise suspicion and possibly leave a trail leading back to the Order. 

The house was far from extravagant, of course, but it was clean, cozy, and complete. The old peeling wallpaper had been removed or replaced (depending on the room), new cushy rugs replaced the old threadbare ones, and mismatched furniture (obviously borrowed from various overstocked homes) had been placed in several rooms. It was now, all in all, a different house. Harry liked it, if not for the sole fact that he knew Sirius would have loved the changes to his former family home.

After Harry walked up and down the house's many halls for a quarter of an hour, opening every door in sight, he began getting a little frustrated. Where the devil was the library? He hoped he wasn't going in circles; his only reassurance that this was not the case was that he had yet to come upon the same room twice. 

He was about to turn around and just ask someone downstairs for directions, when he noticed a narrow corridor to his right. It was so dark his eyes had almost completely skimmed over it. After glancing around briefly to check that no one was coming, Harry stepped into the shadowy hallway.

He couldn't see a thing; unlike the other halls in Grimmauld Place, there were no torches hanging on the walls of this mysterious corridor, and Harry wished more than ever for permission to do magic outside of school. As it were, he was not yet of age, and therefore he only reached out on either side of him, palms flat against the walls as he moved slowly and steadily through the passageway.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking when he saw something up ahead through the gloom–a thin, horizontal beam of soft, yellow light, as though it were coming from beneath a door. Hope and relief began to swell in his chest as Harry hurried towards the only light for what seemed like miles. He reached the door and groped for the knob, which gave a sharp, metallic _click_ as it turned. 

The door opened to reveal a massive, high-ceilinged room. The walls could not be seen as they were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, upon which lay more books than three Hogwarts libraries combined could ever hold. More bookshelves, shorter than those on the walls, filled the room and surrounded a reading area furnished with two old sofas and several chintz chairs, all but one covered with dusty yellowed sheets; a large mahogany table rested in the middle of them and held several old quills and a large ink bottle. Torches and lamps lay haphazardly wherever they were able to fit, as the walls were otherwise occupied. Behind the reading area were towering, deep green drapes, which presumably hid a view of the Muggle residential area in which Grimmauld Place lay secret. Harry had found the Black library.

He had never seen so many books in one place before, and could only gape for a few minutes in awe. Hermione would lose her head, he thought, if she ever found this place; she'd probably never be seen again if she ever went inside. Shaking off the shock, Harry now felt overwhelmed; how in the world was he supposed to find a thin Portkey book in all _this_? He wished Sirius had given him a clue as to where it could be, or that he'd left it somewhere out in the open.

_Had_ Sirius left it out? In his letter he'd seemed determined for Harry to find it, so in all likelihood it had not been returned to its original place amongst the infinite shelves. Harry tried to think of possible places the small black could be at the moment; it was a Portkey, so Sirius wouldn't have been able to pick it up and move it without being transported to that mysterious round room again. He had probably just dropped it on the floor next to its shelf after he'd looked at the first page…unless he'd walked somewhere with it, in which case…Harry had no hope of knowing where it could be.

Harry sighed at the bleakness of the situation, but still began looking down all the aisles and rows of shelves for any floor-bound Portkeys. 

As he passed the rows of books, he glanced at some of their titles: he saw **Fifteen Ways to Skin a Cat** by Caleb Barker, as well as **A Guide to Practical Bribery** by Edsel Gould; then he came upon an entire section devoted to blood purity with titles like **Preserving Purity: Family Ties** by Theodoric Harving and **Mudblood Murderers and the Men They Manipulate** by Ulysses Townsend. Harry quickly understood his godfather's desperation (and utter failure) to find some entertaining reading material in a library for dark wizards.

Unfortunately, Harry's own desperation was taking him over as his search of the endless rows yielded nothing more than what he assumed could be found in the Malfoy library as well. He had seen no sign of the Portkey book, and he feared he would actually have to pour through every title in the gigantic room, a feat sure to take longer than Harry's prior years at Hogwarts combined.

With a sigh, Harry turned to go back to the reading area and rest for a while, hoping it would help him think of a better solution. He'd barely taken one step towards the chairs, however, when he heard a quiet _thump_. Harry whipped around, worried someone else had discovered him, to face the sound's origin. It had come from a few shelves to the right, in the very back of the library. Wand out, he slowly and silently made his way to the final aisle of shelves; with a deep breath, he whipped around the corner, ready to shoot any curse he knew at–

Nothing. Nothing? There was nobody there at all; but somebody other than himself had to have made the noise, because it had come from so far away. Eyes narrowing in determination, Harry's grip on his wand tightened and he moved slowly down the aisle, body tense and ready to move wherever necessary–until his foot caught on something and he crashed unceremoniously to the floor.

"What the–?" said Harry, twisting his body back to see what he'd stumbled over. He squinted into the dark and saw, lying innocently on the floor of the library, a very thin, brown leather-bound book with a beautiful silver compass rose embossed on the cover in lieu of a title. "_The Portkey_!" Harry whispered in awe.

He looked up at the shelf above the book and saw a very small blank space where it must have lain previously. But what had made it fall to the floor? No one else was in the library–Harry had checked everywhere. And even if someone _had_ knocked it down, how would they know which book Harry needed to find? Perhaps the book fell by itself…

Harry had sudden flashes of another mysterious book with a mind of its own; it had held the memories of a young Lord Voldemort, better known back then as Tom Riddle, an ordinary Hogwarts student. He had tried to steal Ginny Weasley's life in order to regain his own, but Harry had prevented Tom's return…_that_ year, at least.

Harry shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and returned them to the book at hand. The entire situation suddenly seemed ludicrous to him; here he was, in the library of one of the most prominent dark wizarding families ever known, about to touch a mysterious Portkey, and all based solely on the word of a strange letter he'd supposedly received from his late godfather, but which had seemed so uncharacteristic of him that Harry couldn't be certain of its author at all.

Harry drew back the hand that had unconsciously been reaching slowly towards the book during his musings. He stood up and brushed dust from the floor off his clothes, glaring contemptuously at the Portkey; he was angry with himself for going through all this trouble–he'd willingly attacked Death Eaters! And for what? A one-way ticket to Voldemort, that's what…

Harry was distracted from his self-scolding by a sudden tower of wind and light shooting from the book on the floor. He stared wide-eyed as the front cover was lifted y the magical wind, opening the book to the first page. Swirling letters began writing themselves on it; they looked like they were written in molten gold. Harry could just make them out from his standing position above them: 

"_Fortunes told in days of old felled the bold and made blood cold_…"

The golden words glowed brighter and then faded to black. More golden letters, written in a flowing script by an invisible hand, appeared beneath them: "_Find the Records, Seek them out, the Seeker will win the Bout_…" 

These words also flashed brilliantly before turning black. Harry knew from Sirius's letter (he no longer doubted it to be real) that those had been the only words written inside the book, and was therefore unprepared when new words wrote themselves beneath the familiar ones:  

"_Welcome, Young Seeker_."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** Wow, I finished this WAY faster than I'd planned. Cool!

Anyway, please review! I honestly want to know what you all think of my story, even if you hate it (as long as you tell me why you hate it; if you don't, **I know where you live**). Reviews make me happy, and I write when I'm happy (or in pain, for some reason, as is evident by the speed of this update; my back hurts like hell!)****

**Next time:** Does Voldemort have something to do with the Portkey book? Will Harry touch it? Would it deliver him directly into danger?

**Review Responses:**

**sillypaulie:** No, Harry wasn't sent to the future; he's back in Dirk's world, the forest in the late 880s. I'm sorry if that wasn't clear, and thank you for being a repeat reviewer!

**Monkey, Queen of Insanity: **(smirks evilly) Who says it was _Lucius_ in that disguise? Methinks she assumes too much! Thank you for being a repeat reviewer!


	10. Dinner and Daring

**AN:** Author's notes at the bottom, since you've been waiting far too long for this chapter already.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The winds died, fading slowly into nothingness, though the mysterious light remained on the open book in front of Harry, who, for his part, could only stare at it. _Young Seeker_? What did that mean? And what Bout would he win by it?

Harry kneeled down peering warily at the Portkey book, whose black words shone darkly in the tower of light emanating from it. He inched his hand toward the light and tentatively waved it through the brilliant beam, though he was unsure as to why he should be more paranoid about the light than the book itself. When nothing happened he glanced at his watch, which had caught some of the magical light and he noted that it was getting late in the evening. If he _was_ going to touch the Portkey, he hadn't a lot of time to waste.  

"_Harry_…"

Harry exhaled sharply at the echo trickling down the long, dark corridor to the library. He whipped around to face the door, snatching his hand away from the book. He must have been gone for quite a while if someone was looking for him now. He looked between the Portkey and the library door, indecisive. 

"_Harry…where_ _are you…are you…are you_?" the echo, distorted from the distance, returned. Harry shook his head and scrambled to his feet, walking swiftly to the door to get to his worried friends. However, he could not resist one last glance at the Portkey book on the way out; he stopped at what he saw. The beam of light coming from the book had shrunk to about a third of its original width, and its luminescence had dulled. Still facing the book, Harry walked several paces backwards toward the door; the light grew smaller and smaller and dulled even more as he went away from it.

"_Harry_!" The echo's volume and clarity had increased this time; his friends were getting close to the library corridor. For some instinctual reason, Harry didn't want anyone else to know about it; not the library, the Portkey book, or even the mysterious letter from Sirius that begat this entire crusade. He turned from the book and ran out of library.

He closed the door as carefully and quietly as he could; he didn't want to alert anyone to his location by the loud BOOM that would result from it slamming shut. He was about to reach his hands out to the walls once more before he realized he could actually see into the dark somewhat. He now saw what his hands had only felt on the way in–the walls were of undecorated, unnaturally smooth, cold stone. He noticed that the floor was of hardwood, but covered through the center with a long, intricate rug that was obviously passed its prime. He was glad of this fact, for his running steps would surely have been heard along hardwood flooring.

"_Harry_…" the echo came, more quiet than before; they must have passed by the unobtrusive corridor. Harry felt relieved and slowed down a bit to catch his breath, not wanting to make obvious the fact that he'd been running for so long a distance without his friends hearing. That could lead to demanded explanations of his whereabouts, and he had not yet thought up a plausible excuse. 

Harry saw the light at the end of the hall long before he actually reached it. In fact, it seemed that he was getting no nearer at all for a few minutes, and he found himself coming out of it quite before he even knew what was going on. He wiped the surprise off his face quickly, however, as Ron and Hermione had just come out of a room further down the hallway. They were about to continue in the wrong direction when Ron spotted Harry.

"There you are, Harry!" he said, and the two rushed over to their wayward friend. "We've been looking all over for you, mate, where've you been?"

"I know, I heard you guys calling a few minutes ago and I've been following your voices," which wasn't a lie, thought Harry, who ignored Ron's question. "It's easy to get lost in this place, isn't it?"

"I'll say," said Hermione, and Harry couldn't tell if she'd picked up on the dodge or not. "But don't worry, Harry, you'll get used to it."

"I should hope so," said Harry. "I'd hate to be stuck wandering endless corridors during dinner!"

Ron chuckled. "Which was exactly what you've been doing! Mum's nearly finished with the cooking, so we came to tell you and bring you downstairs. Didn't you notice the time?"

Harry's stomach answered his friend with a loud grumble. He smiled slightly in embarrassment, and Ron and Hermione laughed. "Guess I lost track of time, didn't I?" said Harry.

"Well, come on then boys," said Hermione, "before the others eat our share."

"Others?" said Harry, walking between his two best friends as they made their way downstairs to the kitchen. In all his hours of wandering, he hadn't seen a single other person throughout the whole of Grimmauld Place.

"Yeah," said Ron, "the Order members have been coming here in flocks lately. Some stay for meals, some just pass through, but I don't recognize the lot either way."

"Ron, you're not making things much clearer," said Hermione at Harry's confused face. "The Order's recruited a lot of new members since last summer, Harry. As this is their Headquarters, they have to come here for instructions and reports."

Harry nodded. Ron and Hermione began bickering and he fell a few paces behind them. So, the Order had new recruits, did it? Well, thought Harry, that was a relief. The more people capable of taking out Death Eaters and the like, the better the odds became of winning (or at least surviving) the Second War.

Harry noticed they were almost to the kitchen door, so he sped up to Ron and Hermione. Attempting to lighten his mood as well as those of his friends (who were still arguing), he said, "Come on, you guys, quit your yammering. We're about to eat, after all!"

"Is that all you can think about?" said Hermione. "Honestly, you spend too much time with Ron."

"And _you_ spend too much time with _us_," said Ron, though he looked mildly proud and nostalgic. "D'you realize how close you are to being Marauder-status?"

"Humph," said Hermione, though she was fighting a flush of pride as she did so. Harry half-smiled as they entered the kitchen, inwardly glad that he still appeared relatively normal to his best friends. If they didn't see anything unusual about him, they wouldn't ask questions he didn't want to answer.

"Harry, there you are!" A familiar woman's voice from an unfamiliar woman was all the warning Harry had before he was caught and thoroughly stuck in a rib-crunching hug. A choking plea for air and a gasped apology later found a liberated Harry staring at the unusual features of his assailant; she had long, blood red locks of sleek hair, a pale complexion, and a rather prominent nose.

"Tonks, I presume?" he said, knowing the power and habit of change the Metamorphmagus had. With a smile, the young female Auror screwed up her face in concentration and molded her features back to normal.

"Sorry about that, Harry," she said, "but the last time I saw you was when Remus brought you back, and…you weren't quite…I dunno–_sane_."

"Tonks!" another female voice admonished fiercely, "Bite your tongue!" Molly Weasley quickly put the pot of hot food she'd been carrying onto the long wooden table in the middle of the room, strode over to the group still crowding the doorway, and enveloped Harry in an only slightly less bone-crushing hug. Unlike Tonks, however, Mrs. Weasley quickly let him go in favor of a loud tirade typical of a relived parent. 

"Harry, dear, where have you _been_? We've been so worried! You were in such a state, and then off you go, disappearing to who _knows_ where, and without _telling_ anybody! _What were you thinking_?"

And for the second time that evening, Harry's stomach replied where his voice failed with a loud gurgle. Mrs. Weasley blinked and went silent–that is, until Tonks began laughing and sent her into mother-hen mode.

"Oh, Harry, you haven't eaten anything yet! Come on, come sit at the table and I'll get you your dinner." She bustled Harry over to a chair, Ron, Hermione, and Tonks following along and trying to suppress their mirth at Harry's face. 

Despite the claims of Ron and Hermione, no new Order members attended the meal. Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt were there, as were Ginny and Arthur Weasley, and everyone got to talking around Harry, who remained silent while effectively stuffing his face. 

There was an abrupt knock on the kitchen doorframe, and Harry looked up to see Lupin come in. "Sorry I'm late, Molly, I got a little carried away with the research," he said, crossing the room.

"Of what?" said Ron, who sat on Harry's right.

"Never you mind," said Mrs. Weasley with a stern glare in Ron's direction. She turned to Lupin. "Don't worry about it, Remus. The food's still warm; let me fix you up a plate."

"Thank you, Molly," he said with a relieved smile, and took a seat next to Moody. Harry had followed Lupin's movements all along, still chewing silently. He wanted to ask him about what had happened the day he'd been brought back to Grimmauld Place, but not at the table where everyone could hear them. With a resolute swallow, he decided to approach Lupin after dinner and ask to speak with him privately.

Since Lupin had only just sat down, Harry slowed down the rapid shoveling of food into his mouth. When Ron and Hermione got up to leave and asked if he was coming, he told them to go ahead without him as he wasn't finished eating. Ron had laughed and said, "Harry, I think you'd have out-eaten Hagrid by now if he were here!" and left with Hermione.

When Lupin got up, so did Harry. Lupin looked about to go off with Moody, so Harry tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, a questioning look on his face, Harry found he rather didn't know what to say. "Erm, could I, er…talk to you? In private?" 

Lupin's eyebrows lifted a little in surprise at the sudden request, but he said, "Sure, Harry. We'll finish this later, Alastor." Moody nodded and strode off, clunking every other step. Lupin turned back to Harry and motioned for him to follow. "Come with me."

Harry followed his former professor into the drawing room, where Lupin proceeded to close the doors. He smiled at Harry and said, "So, what's on your mind, Harry?"

"Er…well, I was just wondering if you'd tell me…you know, what, erm, happened the other day, exactly," he said awkwardly.

Lupin's expression turned serious. "You don't remember anything?"

Harry shook his head. "No, just that two Death Eaters came to the house, but they were disguised with Polyjuice Potion, and…the woman, I Stunned her…Bellatrix," he finished with a growl.

Lupin sighed. "Yes, you did. But things got bad from there."

"I don't care what the other one did to me, as long as I got _her_," said Harry with a withering glare fixed determinedly at the wall before him.

Lupin gave him a sharp look. "That's a dangerous philosophy to have, Harry. To put yourself in danger for the sake of revenge can only lead to your destruction, in one way or another."

Harry fixed his stare onto his old professor and said nothing. Lupin met his gaze and continued with his explanation of events: "The second Death Eater put you under the Cruciatus Curse and held you there for three and a half minutes. It only takes seven to drive a fully grown wizard insane, and about five for one your age."

Harry knew this already, but was reluctant to tell Lupin that the man invading his head had told him this fact. However, knowing that Dirk had been right about the facts so far made Harry consider the fact that the Portkey book might have some merit, and that at least he knew he wasn't mad and hallucinating.

"When the Death Eater cursed you, you fell in front of the door and…we couldn't get to you that way," Lupin swallowed with some difficulty, and his face grew strained and appeared more careworn. "We broke through the window and Stunned him. You…you didn't respond to anything I said, but you still recognized me. I thought for a good while that…you might have been lost, or close to it. You were out for three days…."

Lupin drew in a shuddery breath and looked away; Harry's eyes widened. He'd almost been driven mad by some random, unknown Death Eater! And he'd been unconscious for three days? No wonder he was so hungry at dinner, he thought somewhat darkly. Snapping back into the present, Harry realized he'd never seen Lupin acting like this before–the closest he'd seen Lupin come to this kind of painful sorrow was when Sirius had died….

Harry stepped in front of Lupin and waited for him to relinquish his averted gaze. When he did, Harry grabbed his left hand. _I'm still here_, he told Lupin without words. He was surprised when he found himself in the werewolf's one-armed embrace. 

"Harry," he said painfully, "you're all I have left. I…couldn't handle anything happening to you." Meanwhile Harry, who had never been good with hugs, didn't know what to say or do. He settled for tightening his grasp on Lupin's hand and patting him rather awkwardly on the shoulder.

To continue the initial conversation (though mostly to save the both of them from drowning in memories of Sirius Black), Harry said, "What happened after you came in? And who was there? Besides you, I mean."

Lupin, who'd finally let go of Harry, said, "Moody was there, along with Tonks again, though she'd gone to cover the back door and didn't know what'd happened until I brought you back here. Three of the new Order members, Aurors, came along as well since we didn't know how many Death Eaters we'd find."

"Were there any more around the house?" said Harry.

"No, it was just those two," said Lupin, and he frowned in confusion. "One would think Voldemort would have sent more than just two Death Eaters to fetch you."

"Fetch?" said Harry.

"Yes. After you'd been brought here, we, that is, Tonks, Moody, and I, went to the Ministry with the other Aurors to witness the interrogation. Under Veritaserum, Bellatrix admitted that their orders had been only to check up on you, if you'll believe it."

"Check up on me!" said Harry incredulously. "What, to make sure I was feeling all right?"

Lupin smiled. "No, actually they were gauging your powers. Apparently, Voldemort has been feeling odd magical goings-on coming from you lately. The Death Eaters told us that he'd said you might be getting spells put on you, and that he'd wanted to see if they were more forms of protection. They were told to check you out for magical signatures, but to be wary of actually cursing you for fear of possible accidental activation."

"The other Death Eater _did_ say something about 'being wary' of me and 'remembering orders'," said Harry. "But then why did he use the Cruciatus on me if they were told not to curse me?"  

"Actually, they were told to be careful with you until they could be certain there were no protection spells on you. He didn't detect any, and when you stunned _that woman_ he acted accordingly. Well, as a result, your watch alerted us to the trouble. But it took us too long to get to number four; the anti-Apparation wards on your house are the only ones our specialized Portkeys can't get through."

"What?" said Harry, amazed at his bad luck. "Why not?"

"Well," said Lupin, "these Portkeys are specialized in that they are not trained on any specific place–they are trained on you. Unfortunately, these Portkeys can't get through blood magic, as they work by destroying the foundation of the wards–and that would be you in this case, the very person they were made to protect."

Harry blinked. "Oh." He blinked again, thinking. "So, who was the other Death Eater, anyway? I mean, you found out after the Polyjuice wore off, didn't you?" 

"No, we didn't." At Harry's unbelieving expression, Lupin continued. "After I Stunned him, we were focused on getting you away from the premises. No one was really keeping watch over him, as he was unconscious. When the Aurors went to collect him, he was gone."

"What d'you mean, 'gone'? He was knocked out!" said Harry. 

Lupin shook his head. "No one knows. I don't see how it's possible myself, but the fact is he was there one moment and gone the next." 

"Well that's bollocks," Harry grumbled. He was silent for a moment as he mulled things over in his head. "Hang on," he said, eyebrows furrowing as he suddenly remembered something. "Didn't Dumbledore say that I had to stay in Privet Drive because it gave me protection from people like them, the Death Eaters?"

Lupin sighed wearily. "Yes, and he was quite right. Unfortunately, under further questioning, Bellatrix revealed that Voldemort had found out how one goes about infiltrating the wards created by your blood connection to Petunia."

"What?" Harry hissed, tensing in indignation. "The deranged, murderous _maniac_ that's after my life found out how my only protection works before _I_ did? I thought after last year no one would keep secrets from me!"

"Shh, I know, Harry," said Lupin as he motioned for Harry to lower his voice and glanced at the closed doors across the room. He sighed. "I know. We just haven't had enough time–"

"What, like the time you spent the whole day at the Dursleys'? You know, that day when all that mysterious and dangerous magic had been _possessing_ me, and you came to ensure my _safety_?" said Harry scathingly.

"Harry, I'm sorry," said Lupin, looking apologetically into Harry's narrowed eyes. "We were heavily occupied with something else." He looked as though he was debating something inside for a moment before setting his jaw and continuing. "We suspect that we have a spy in our midst."

Harry calmed down some and his eyes widened a bit. "A spy? In the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I'm afraid so," said Lupin, "That's the only way Voldemort could have possibly found out how to pass the wards on your house."

"Oh yeah," said Harry, brows lowering once more, "about that. Care to tell me how they work? I mean, now that I can't go back there, it's no longer important, potentially life-saving information for you to keep from me."

"You'll be able to go back, Harry," said Lupin, thoroughly disregarding the last part of Harry's sentence.

"Joy," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"Essentially, the wards are not very complex," said Lupin, "just very strong and very permanent. They're even stronger with your aunt in the house, which is a great coincidence since she stays at home; and your cousin helps a bit in strengthening them as well, as he's also related to you by blood."

"Wow, Dudley's constant laying about the house is actually good for something," said Harry.

"Yes, it is," said Lupin seriously. "And lastly, the basic rule of the wards is that no magical person intending you harm can enter the house without permission." 

"Well the Death Eaters certainly picked a good time to show up, as Aunt Petunia and Dudley were gone."

"Yes, they did a fine job of luring your relatives out of the house. They were gone all day," said Lupin.

"Lured out?" said Harry sharply. "Are they–are they, er,–"

"They're fine, Harry," said Lupin. "They weren't lured into Death Eaters' hands; the idea of a sudden party was forced into the head of your uncle's boss."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of his only living family being in mortal peril. He certainly didn't like the Dursleys, but he didn't want them dead, or even injured (at least, not too terribly). "But, wouldn't it have been easier to just–er–get rid of them and break the wards forever?" 

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" said Lupin, a puzzled expression coming over his face. "That's what I've been researching lately, types of wards and their properties. That's why I was late to dinner tonight. I fear that Voldemort may know something about them that we don't, and that puts us in a precarious position indeed."

Harry nodded and grew silent in thought. He had so much new information, however, that he hardly knew where to start. Something Lupin had said came back to him. "Do you have any leads on the spy?"

Lupin looked sideways at Harry and stuck his hands in his pockets. "No, unfortunately," he said, "and our secrets grow every day. We have no idea from whom we should be keeping them."

Bitter anger flooded through Harry as he thought of a suspect. "Oh, and I don't suppose _Snape_, our resident double-crosser, who goes to regular _meetings_ with Voldemort could _possibly_ be the culprit?" he bit out. He still hated Snape immensely for what occurred last year.

Lupin looked piercingly at Harry. "Dumbledore trusts Snape, Harry. That trust means more to him than you could know. He would never do anything to jeopardize it."

"Hmm," Harry sneered. However, before he could vocalize any of his feelings for the Potions Master, Lupin gave a yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, but I've been up since dawn and it's rather late. Unless you feel we're not finished here?"

"No, sorry for keeping you," said Harry, who wasn't even remotely sleepy. "Thank you for telling me everything, Professor."

Lupin half-smiled at the title. "Harry, considering I haven't been your professor for more than two years now, I think it'd be safe to call me Remus–or," he added, and his smile grew, "you could call me Moony, like you did back in Surrey."

"What?" said Harry, not remembering doing anything of the sort.

"That's what you said after I Stunned the Death Eater–'Moony.' It was quite ironic, as that was also your first word, after 'Mama,' of course. James was worried for a while after that."

Harry stared at his former Defense teacher in wonder before he broke out into a smile. "Goodnight Pro–er, Remus," he said.

"Goodnight Harry." 

* * * * *

Harry trudged up the stairs thinking about all he'd heard that evening with Lupin–_Remus_, he remembered. Had his first word really been "Moony?" Had his father really gotten worried about what his mother had been doing and with whom? Even if Remus was putting him on, Harry thought it was funny anyway.

He reached the landing, looked down the corridor, and blinked in surprise. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd completely missed his floor! He was only one floor too far…the floor with the library…. 

Without even pausing to think about what he was doing, Harry made his way down the dark hall. When he reached the shadowy hallway leading to the library, however, he paused. It looked even more sinister than it had in the daytime; the shadows were so deep that they appeared to be absorbing all surrounding light, not just piercing through it. Harry felt oddly drawn to it though, and once more stuck his hands out on either side of him to avoid bumping into the walls. Even though he knew what lay ahead, he wanted to save himself any scrapes and bruises if he could help it. Making his way forward, he felt a warm buzz flowing from the walls, into his fingertips and throughout his body, getting stronger as he neared the Black library.

When the familiar band of yellow torchlight appeared in the distance from beneath the library door, Harry withdrew his hands. The second trip seemed to have taken very little time, whereas the first was a short eternity in darkness, and he reached the door earlier than he expected.

Harry pushed the door open and found the large room to be just as he'd hastily left it earlier that evening. Still feeling an electric magic tingling on the tip of his subconscious, he was drawn in the direction of the last shelf in the last aisle–to the Portkey book.

As he neared the area in which he knew the book lay, Harry saw a thin beam of light shooting up from the floor. He got closer and closer, and the beam of light grew in width and intensity as he did. When he turned into the last aisle, he saw the familiar leather-bound book emanating the familiar tower of brilliant light.

Harry hesitated. Even if that little book _didn't_ deliver him straight to Voldemort, it could still dump him in the middle of another dangerous situation. But he _did_ have his wand, and the watch guard as well, didn't he? If any unfortunate spells came his way, the Order would come. Though it only took two seconds to say _Avada Kedavra_… 

Stamping down that line of thinking, Harry, eyes shining and alert with determination, brought his hand to the book before him. He only had time to notice that the tip of his forefinger had rested upon the word "_Seeker_" at the bottom of the page before he felt a jerk behind his navel and was pulled through a blur of color and wind to his unknown destination.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**AN:** And…scene! Well, I'm back, and I know you probably all hate me for taking–gulp–twenty days to put out another chapter. In a feeble attempt at forgiveness, I've made this chapter extra-long; it's about 1,000 words longer than any of my other chapters. If you don't want to hear my reason for taking forever, skip the following **Excuse** to the **Review Responses** and the **Next time** below it. 

**Excuse:** If you'd read my previous Author's Notes, you'll know I had to go to surgery. I didn't think it was a big deal, and I'm already healed, but it's been very difficult to get back to being myself. Then I had a lot of makeup work for school, and the usual assignments to finish when I'd gone back. Luckily, a two-hour fit of inspiration snapped me out of my slump and gave life to what had previously been going nowhere.

**Next time:** Where is Harry going? And what the hell is going on inside his head?

**Review Responses:**

**Ariana Dumbledore:** Thanks for the compliment! You'll find out why Dirk does that in the next one or two chapters.

**solar1:** Thank you very much, and sorry this wasn't very "soon."

**Monkey, Queen of Insanity:** Ah ah ah, you'll just have to wait and see!

**Hunta:** Thank you very much, I appreciate your calling me original. 

Please review, lovely people!


End file.
